The Master Plan
by StarryGazer
Summary: SLASH. Complete. Harry is looking for the knowledge and training to survive the war. Only Severus Snape can give it. This is being edited for mistakes, and that is why the chapter titles and numbers don't match-I'll fix it someday.
1. The Master Plan

**BETAS**: Echotheinsane, Gemsbok, and the ubiquitous ShadowPhoenix! (So its uber-beta'd, really. I didn't take all of their suggestions, though. Author's prerogative.)  
**NOTES**: This story was posted long ago and far away, and it turned out there were many things I wanted to polish, modify, and otherwise improve upon. So this is my shiny new version for your enjoyment. salutes EVERYONE on their knees!

**SUMMARY**: After Harry's fifth year, he decides needs someone to train him to survive the ongoing war against Voldemort. Who could be a more perfect tutor than recovering Death Eater and all around sadist, Professor Snape? Severus Snape isn't hopeful he'll survive the war; all he's looking to do is save Potter once and for all—from his own stupidity, if nothing else. What he finds is redemption. And they both find a little laughter and hope along the way. SET AFTER 5TH YEAR.

**When Potions Professors Attack**

An impressive roar sounded throughout the dungeons, and the castle trembled violently. After a moment, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stumbled out of the Potions lab amidst a cloud of acrid, jaundice-colored smoke. The lens from one of Harry's frames had fallen out, and Ron had a swath of soot across his forehead. They managed to totter across the hall and lean against the wall, where they waited, pale and silent, until the ground stopped shaking and students begin filling the hall, looking for the source of the upheaval.

Finally, Hermione shook her head as if to clear it before saying, "Perhaps that wasn't such a good idea." She bit her lip, looking guilty.

"What?" Ron replied. "My ears are still ringing. Cor, that _Resonatus Detonum_ spell didn't half work like you said it would! That was brill, Hermione!"

Hermione reddened a little, only looking half placated about her involvement in the matter. "I think I put a bit too much into it," she admitted.

"Nah," Harry assured her. "It was awesome." The three of them grinned conspiratorially at one another for a moment, before a deep, rich, cultured, and above all, _very_ _angry _voice began to be heard above the excited din of the crowd in the halls. Their smiles began to falter as they caught sight of Professor Snape plowing through a group of first years toward them.

Harry tried to remind himself that it was all going as planned. The plan, he began to think, might have a small possibility of being flawed. It hadn't taken certain things into account, like Snape's notoriously volatile temper, or the complete and utter gut-wrenching fright Snape on the warpath tended to inspire. Harry swallowed hard. They hadn't made a backup plan. What was wrong with Hermione, that she hadn't devised a backup plan? This Snape was angrier than Harry had anticipated. The plan wouldn't work. What a stupid plan! What should they do? "Maybe we should act like he's a wild animal attacking us, like a bear or something. D'you think we should play dead?"

"I don't think we'll need to play at anything," Hermione responded fervently.

Snape stalked closer, his eyes narrowing murderously.

"Quick!" Harry hissed. "Excuses! Alibis!"

"Er, we didn't do it and we're very sorry for doing it?" Hermione suggested timidly.

"We weren't even here," Ron said instantly. "We were spying on the girls' Quiddich changing rooms."

"Ron!" Hermione snapped.

"That's where we were," Ron continued in a litany of panic. "We weren't here. We aren't even here now. You're imagining things!"

As Snape approached the trembling group, they saw his lips pull back in an enraged snarl. "What did you DO to my DUNGEONS?" he demanded.

"We didn't mean to," Ron quailed. "We'll make it up to you! Here, take Hermione," he pushed her in front of him. "Erm. Virgin sacrifice," he hissed in response to her outraged gasp.

Snape, however, ignored both of them completely. "YOU," he thundered, prodding Harry in the chest with one long, trembling finger.

"Me?" Harry squeaked, his own hands gesturing to himself. "_This_ me?" His green eyes were round with terror.

"You," Snape repeated in a low, venomous tone. "_You're_ the ringleader. I know it. This is entirely _your_ fault. It's ALWAYS _your fault_."

His hooked nose was mere inches away from Harry's, and Harry found himself going cross-eyed trying to look at it. "No!" he heard himself insist in a high-pitched voice. "No—not! It—always—I," he stammered hysterically. "The fall of Rome! Nothing to do with it! I _swear_! Wasn't even there! And paper cuts! I had nothing to do with those!"

Severus Snape stood with teeth bared and chest heaving as Professor McGonagall made her way to the scene. "_What_ is going _on_ here?" she gasped, staring at her students. Harry reflected that if he lived to see his next birthday, it would be because of Professor McGonagall's perfectly timed arrival. Surely Snape wouldn't rend him limb-from-limb right in front of her, would he?

Professor Snape closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing, as the trio gazed fearfully up at him, awaiting his response. After merely standing and shaking with rage for a full five minutes, hair disheveled and hands clenched, he finally opened his eyes. They glittered with repressed malevolence. "THREE HUNDRED POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!" he screamed. "DETENTIONS FOR ALL OF YOU FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR! WITH _FILCH_!" he added. "NOT _YOU_," he pointed at Harry. "_YOU'RE_ not getting off that easy! You're not getting away with it this time! Oh yes, you get detention too, but not with Filch! This time, _you're mine_!"

Harry stared at him. "Eek!"

**A/N:  
**Feel free to let me know what you think about the formatting. Click review now, damn you! StarryGazer


	2. A Sarcastic Sort of Hell

**Chapter Two: A Sarcastic Sort of Hell**

"Did you really blow up the Potions lab?" Seamus asked, his eyes filled with alarm and amusement.

"Absolutely not," Ron told him firmly. "You can't get us to incriminate ourselves like that."

"And it was only the stuff that was breakable, flammable, or otherwise easily destroyed," interjected Harry. "I mean; it's a dungeon. Stone walls, stone floors—how much damage could we really do? We didn't blow up the _whole _lab. It's still standing."

Ginny Weasley glared at Harry. "Why did you have to go and do something so _stupid_?" she queried. "You were _supposed _to help me learn that _refracto_ spell. The one I keep screwing up and _amplifying_ whatever hexes are aimed at me? You swore up and down that you'd help me with that tonight!"

Harry gave a helpless shrug. "That was just, you know, pillow talk," he told her, winning himself that dangerously sharp Weasley elbow directed at his ribs. He'd never really have slept with Ginny, and Ron must have known, because despite the fact that he was pretty protective of his younger sister, he just rolled his eyes in response.

Dean Thomas shook his head in amazement and admiration. "No Potions for at least two months," he said in awe. "It's like I've died and gone to heaven. How the hell did you do it? And _why_ the hell did you do it? Not that I'm not grateful," he added hastily. "I just would've thought a year's worth of detentions wouldn't be worth two months without Potions. I mean, really, if you think about it."

Harry gave a little shrug, looking kind of distant and disgruntled. "Just a prank, really. We never—you know—really _do_ stuff like that, just to say we did."

"Well, I don't know about that," Dean replied, looking thoughtful. "It seems to me you do a lot of crazy things, you just usually seem to be doing them for…noble reasons or something. I guess it really doesn't seem like you ever do them _just_ to say you did." He gave Harry a glance that was a little shrewder than Harry would have liked.

"_I_ just can't believe you aren't mad at us for losing all those points," Hermione said hastily. "I mean; there goes the House Cup, at the very least. We're lucky we weren't suspended."

"Weeeelll…" Seamus admitted, "a lot of Gryffindors _are_ mad at you, like Parvati and Lavender."

"You're telling _me_," Ron jumped in. "Did you hear what Parvati _called_ me yesterday? Right in front of McGonagall, too."

"And someone slipped a singing sardine into my oatmeal this morning," Hermione added glumly. She'd tried to be a sport about the whole thing, and laugh along with the guys, but it was easy to see she still wasn't into the spirit of pranking. "Anyway, I still don't understand why the two of _you_ aren't angry with us."

Dean and Seamus glanced at each other, grinning a little, and Dean shrugged. Seamus tried to explain. "The LOOK on his FACE…" he said. "We only made it down there just in time to watch Snape get his first glance at the smoke coming out of his classroom…seeing as how he's taken God only knows how many points off of Gryffindor in the past, just because he was Snape, and not because we'd even done anything…"

"Yeah," Dean added, looking a little pensive, but still grinning, "and after all the times he's been horrible to Harry, or taken points off of him for no reason at all! I think it was kind of cool, just this once, to know the Gryffindors had actually _done _something—kind of almost that one big something that made up for all those little things in the past."

"What Dean is saying," Seamus said expansively, "is that this was the most perfect, point-blank, satisfying 'SCREW YOU' the Gryffindors ever could have given the overgrown grease-ball. And he thoroughly deserved it, too."

OoOoOoOoO

Several hours later, more than an hour into their first detention with Filch, Hermione couldn't hold back the complaints she'd wanted to let loose all day. After Filch had left them trying to restore the classroom to its original state (shards of glass were taken care of with magic, but everything else was to be done by hand) she'd finally given a loud sigh and began letting everything out.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Hermione moaned, shaking her head. She squeezed some water out of the sponge and dunked it in the bucket again. "Three hundred points! A year's worth of detention! Why did I let you talk me into it?" Unhappily, she went back to scrubbing at the soot on the floor.

"I didn't talk you into it," Ron frowned at her. "It was _Harry's_ idea, not mine, remember? Besides, I thought you would talk him out of it. You're supposed to be the sensible one! Why didn't you tell us this would happen?"

"I _did_," Hermione responded waspishly, pushing her hair out of her face with a soapy hand. "I DID tell you, you idiot! And how come I always have to be the sensible one? Am I ever allowed to have fun and be a dolt? And how come you're just sitting there, instead of helping me with this floor? If Filch comes back, and you know he will any moment, and you're still sitting there like that…" she trailed off, and went back to scouring at the soot.

"'Course you aren't allowed to have fun," Ron replied, biting back a smile. "You're the voice of reason. Why would we keep you around, otherwise?" He spluttered as a soapy sponge hit him in the face. "Well, I like that! Next time you get us into one of these stupid messes, you can handle it yourself, then!"

Hermione shook her head, torn between amused affection and exasperation. It was so like Ron, especially lately, to tease her like that, never taking anything seriously.

"You really did surprise me," he added quietly. He sounded so sincere that Hermione looked up again, questioningly. "I really thought you'd talk him out of it again. You'd talked him out of all the other crazy stuff he'd come up with. I reckoned I could just agree with him and then let you set him straight. Why didn't you?"

"It really isn't my responsibility," she responded, brow furrowing. She dropped the sponge and sat down next to him, leaning back against the wall. She bit her lip, thinking about it. "I just…I don't know. I was _so_ glad he was talking again, and. And—and—I guess I just worried he would stop, you know, if we didn't do _something_."

"Yeah, I guess I know what you mean," Ron said, shoulders sagging. After what had happened that summer, Harry had been so different. Explosive one moment, and then taciturn the next. And then he'd started having these weird ideas, like finding some way of bringing Sirius back to life, or getting a medium to talk to his Godfather for him. And Ron and Hermione hadn't let him, wouldn't agree to _any_ of it, because they could see how bad it was, and how unhealthy it would be for him. And after the last time they'd refused, he'd just…stopped. Wouldn't talk, not for months. Hardly ate, hardly slept, only responded to adults, only responded in halting, quelling sentences. Snape had been the only one to get any kind of rise out of him, and then only half the time. And when he'd finally broken his muteness, and raised the subject of blowing up Snape's classroom, Ron had readily agreed. He didn't care _what_ happened, anything was better than the stifling silence. "Yeah. And he's talking again," he pointed out hopefully. It was true; ever since the two of them had embraced his plan, Harry had seemed almost Harry again, and had schemed a way to get under Snape's skin with enthusiasm.

"Yeah…he seems better, kind of. He really does," Hermione had to admit.

Ron slung an arm over her shoulder and grinned. "Then it was worth it," he announced firmly.

Hermione looked at him for a long moment. "For us, maybe. Harry's stuck with Snape right now. I wonder if _he_ still thinks it was worth it." She gave a dry smile.

Ron pulled a face. "Yeah, stuck with Snape for most of the night. Dunno. It'd be a nightmare, that. I sure hope Snape doesn't pull anything, you know, _too_ vicious. He can get real nasty."

Harry was, in fact, supposed to be copying several hundred lines across the blackboard in the Transfigurations classroom—since the one they used for Potions was out of commission for a while. Snape hadn't even bothered to stay and watch him copy the lines. He got the feeling he could cheat and use magic, and Snape wouldn't notice or care. He looked up that the fifty lines he'd done so far: I WILL STOP BEING A COMPLETE IMBECILE, over and over and over. He scowled. The plan had turned into a complete failure. Snape was supposed to be _mad_ at him, so mad that he'd…do something rash, Harry supposed, although he wasn't entirely certain what, and instead…he'd just set him to copying lines and left. _Rat pig bastard git…won't even be angry when he's supposed to…_ Harry thought as he glared at the board.

He turned quickly as the door opened again, and the Professor himself stepped through, looking sour and suspicious. "Are you going to gape at me like an idiot, or get back to work?" he inquired in that mellifluous, arrogant voice. "I'm sure if I thought about it, I could come up with a much more entertaining punishment. It would be my pleasure." But belying his words, his feet carried him straight past Harry to McGonagall's desk, where he removed a book from his robes and began to read, ignoring Harry completely.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He did _not_ like being ignored. Instead of finishing the lines, he flopped down at one student's desk and kicked his feet up on another, trying to pretend that he wasn't looking at the Professor as he blew his unruly bangs out of his eyes.

Snape slowly looked up, and arched an eyebrow in a menacing fashion. Harry's heart skipped a beat, but he looked away, as though he simply didn't care if the teacher jinxed the bejeezus out of him, right then and there. Snape ground his teeth. "Just _what _are you doing, Mister Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "You don't seem to be all that angry with me anymore. You've definitely cooled off since this morning. Maybe I'm just kicking back because I think I can get away with it," he said with an abstracted air, never looking at the teacher.

He saw Snape jerk a little, like he was taken aback, and allowed himself a lazy smile. Maybe it was better this way; Snape, when he was angry, was just a little too intimidating, and Harry always felt himself lose control, and then he made a fool out of himself. Snape when he was merely irritated could actually be pretty amusing. Harry watched the man out of the corner of his eye, saw the way his hands gripped the desk very tightly, and how he frowned as though working on a particularly difficult puzzle.

"I don't think you've gotten away with much of anything, lately," Snape said, quietly, looking at Harry almost accusingly.

"So, what; first you're all hot and bothered that I went and demolished your precious Potions lab, and then you're mad because I didn't, really? Very mature." He gave Snape a practiced smirk. He'd only done it a thousand times in front of the mirror this summer. He knew he didn't wear it as well as someone like Malfoy did, but he actually was quite angry, and he knew he did it better when he was really mad about something.

Snape's lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed even further. "What are you playing at, Potter?" he demanded in a clipped voice.

"You know what I'm talking about," Harry responded, even managing to sound a little bored. This was fantastic! He actually had the upper hand. It was so exciting. He hoped to God he didn't blow it. "I didn't blow up your stupid classroom, I'm sure you know because you must have found the potions by now, and you'd be an idiot not to realize that if we really _had_ caused a large explosion in there, the chemical reactions, and the damage to the rest of the castle, not to mention ourselves, would have been considerably worse." He gave another oily smirk, pleased with himself. _Oh, I am so damn good._

"And _what_," Snape replied, standing and walking over to Harry's desk, looking down with arms across his chest, "exactly was the _point_ of _pretending_ to blow up my Potions laboratory? Hmm, Mister Potter? I know you are somewhat the school record-holder for doing incredibly stupid, dangerous, _senseless_ things; did you merely not want to break the winning streak?" His voice was calm, cold, and Harry felt that tight anger building in his chest again.

"Well, you looked at me, didn't you?" he threw back. "You _spoke_ to me. I have witnesses who can say you did; you were only bellowing at the top of your lungs."

Snape sneered. "All this effort, just to get a little attention from me? I'm flattered, I really am. Please. A pathetic excuse," he spat. "What is your real motivation behind that inconceivably unintelligent act?"

"That _was_ why I did it!" Harry yelped. "First you break off the Occlumency lessons and then you only throw, like, _half_ the poisoned barbs at me that you used to, and you totally IGNORE me the rest of the time. You even threw me out when I stayed after class to ask you a question, on three separate occasions! And it was a really important question, too!"

"Poor, spoiled Harry is unused to not being fawned over and made a fuss of by the entire wizarding community. I see." Snape's lips twisted in an unpleasant smile. "I did assume that it would have to be some kind of preposterous, self-serving reason. Really, Potter; you're fatuousness is only surpassed by your overwhelming conceit. And only by the slightest margin."

Harry felt his face go red. It didn't help that he didn't have the vaguest idea what 'fatuousness' meant, although the last time he'd been locked in Dudley's old room, he actually got so bored that he read a great deal of his cousin's dictionary. "I most certainly am not. Er. _It_ certainly _is_ not," he replied, but he felt the effect was rather spoilt by the fact that he'd screwed it up the first time round.

Snape's lips actually twitched at this. "Do you mean to say that your fatuousness _far _surpasses your conceit?" he enquired wryly.

Harry went, if possible, even redder. "I _meant_ that I really needed to talk to you, and you just—just—fine! You know what, just fine! If you want to ignore me, you go right ahead and do that! I'm leaving." He marched toward the door, shoulders hunched.

"That would be inadvisable, considering you are, in fact, still in the very midst of being punished for your last transgression," that dark velvet chocolate of a voice trailed after him.

Harry stopped, flinching. "We didn't even actually _do_ much of anything, you realize. And what we did do was totally my idea. I had to bully Ron and Hermione into having anything to do with it. All we did was a minor spell that seemed like something bigger. It just made a loud noise, covered everything with ash and soot, and gave the place a little shake. I think Hermione said it was supposed to be a sonic boom type of thing. We even packed all of your potions and stuff away, all carefully labeled, and put them where they wouldn't get hurt. Why are we even being punished?"

"Why won't you give me a straight answer as to your motivation?" Snape countered. "'I needed attention' is far too childish to be believable, even for you, Potter."

"I _did_ give you a straight answer," Harry replied in a flat voice. "I don't care if you believe me. I just wanted to ask you one fucking question. And you can say or do whatever you want from here on out; dole out any punishment you please. I'm utterly past caring." He turned again and walked out the door, his footsteps rather listless.

He almost could have sworn that he imagined the soft, frustrated sigh that wafted out behind him. He could not, however, have imagined the voice. "Potter, get back in here. If you want to ask your wretched question, do so now. I will never give you another opportunity, be aware." And Harry found his feet slowing, as he turned back to the door.


	3. Is That a Confession or Are You Just Hap...

**BETAS**: Echotheinsane, Gemsbok, and the innocuous ShadowPhoenix!  
**NOTES**: Wow! Gemsbok (the Bulgarian Grammarian, tee hee) caught a lot of things that I didn't, for some reason. Anyway, it's _much _better now, and I'm a great deal happier about the way it's going. salutes EVERYONE on their knees!

**SUMMARY**: After Harry's fifth year, he decides needs someone to train him to survive the ongoing war against Voldemort. Who could be a more perfect tutor than recovering Death Eater and all around sadist, Professor Snape? Harry gets an opportunity to explain his position to Snape, and for once in his life, he gets the upper hand.

**Chapter Three: Is That a Confession, or Are You Just Happy to See Me?**

Harry took a deep breath before re-entering the classroom, and gave Professor Snape a defiant look.

Snape did not look impressed. "Well?" he offered, sounding silk and smooth and perfect. "You said you had a question. You'd best be quick about it, before I decide you were lying and just trying to keep my attention. If you were, you are about to be _very _sorry."

Harry blinked a couple of times. One chance. What were the odds, he wondered, that he'd completely muck it up once again? Taking a deep breath, he said, "You'retheonlyteacherherethat'sactuallyworkedwithVoldemorteandweallknowyouwanttheDefenseAgainsttheDarkArtsjobandIreallythinkI'vegoneasfarasIcanonmyownandIreallyneedyoutohelpme." He took a deep gasping breath and continued, "BecauseI'msickofeveryonelookingtomeandIdon'twanttogetanyoneelsekilledbecauseofmysheerstupidity…all right?" He sagged. He'd almost run out of air and passed out. And he'd probably just mucked it up again. Yeah, that was mucking it up, all right.

Severus Snape stared at him for a long moment. "Was that Parseltongue, Gobledegook, just plain gibberish, or possibly Welsh?" he inquired, arching one of those elegant, black wing brows.

Harry fought the heat that threatened to rise in his cheeks once again. He cleared his throat. "You're the only teacher here that's actually worked with—with you-know-who," he stuttered, remembering the Potion Master's distaste for hearing the name. "And…we all know you want the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, and I really think I've gone as far as I can on my own," he continued, careful to go much more slowly than his first unintelligible outburst. "I…would really like you to help me, because—because I'm sick of everyone looking to me, and I don't want to get anyone else killed because of my sheer stupidity." He squeezed the last few words out through gritted teeth, waiting for Snape to snap out the inevitable insults.

When he looked up at the teacher, the man still had not said anything, but was staring at him with an intense, contemplative air. His black eyes were glittering and, to Harry, completely unreadable. "You blew up my potions lab because you wanted…my help? Is that what I am being led to believe?"

Harry shrugged, feeling frustrated. "Well, you just…you wouldn't answer me. You wouldn't even look at me."

"As I recall," Snape said in an all-too-casual voice, "Your main reason for approaching me for most of the summer and…then again, after the return to classes, was to accuse me—as vituperatively as possible—of having been the reason your Godfather died." He raised his eyebrows, and Harry was surprised that Snape had managed to say it so calmly. "I can't remember having been approached with any course-related questions, nor can I, in fact, recollect ever being spoken to with anything less than malice, virulence, or even with any measure of coherence."

"I could say the same," Harry muttered spitefully, but he fell silent when Snape looked down his nose at him.

"Indeed. But my point is that, as I recall, there was never any mention, in any of our more than memorable encounters, of you needing my help. The discourse did not, I think, run in that direction at all. Conversely, I remember the dialogue going something along the lines of, "You worthless, greasy haired bastard; I hate you I really do, no, in fact I _loathe_ you; you should die; it should have been you; do you have any idea how you make my skin crawl; every time I'm near you I wish I could cast _Avada Kedavra_; you're going to hell someday and I hope I'm the one that gets to send you there; you know, I don't believe for five seconds you're really on our side; you're just waiting for the right time to sell me out to him, aren't you; I detest you, I really, honestly do." Professor Snape had said all this in a subdued, almost bored sounding voice, in the exact same manner as anyone would if they were compelled to recite a particularly long and tedious grocery list, and Harry was astonished.

He felt a wave of shame wash over him, and found he couldn't meet Snape's eyes. _He remembered all that?_ The only thing Harry remembered very clearly about the earlier part of the year was that Snape seemed to be avoiding him, and it was almost driving him mad, they way he didn't have anybody to let loose on. He bit his lip, thinking back. Yes, he _could_ remember saying such horrible things, but… "You gave as good as you got," he pointed out softly. He flashed back on the sorts of things Snape always said to him. He grimaced as he said, "You're a nasty, horrible little boy; you never listen to anyone, always assume you know better; all arrogance and no common sense; we'd all be better off if we broke you down for spare parts; you're an absolutely repulsive, insufferable brat; oh, please, Potter, go ahead and try a killing curse on me, won't that be amusing, seeing as how you manage to make such a disaster of every little thing when you lose your temper; how thoroughly atrocious, to find you waiting for me after class again; if you don't leave me the hell alone and stay the fuck away from me, I'll save the Dark Lord the trouble and kill you myself, don't you think for one moment I won't." Harry stopped, his mouth clamping shut.

Snape's eyes had grown wider and wider during the recitation, but he seemed to stop and make a conscious effort to narrow them once Harry had finished. "And I suppose you're expecting an apology?" he sneered, glaring at the student.

Harry merely shrugged. "Not really, no. I said shit to you, you said shit to me; as far as I'm concerned, we're even. And anyway…at least _you_ yelled back," he added quietly, half-turned so that Severus almost didn't hear him.

"What do you mean, _I_ yelled back? I don't recall you trying to provoke any of your other teachers into screaming matches, nor for that matter your friends, or even, for that matter, your enemies. Your misdirected, meaningless ire was focused entirely on me." His arms were still crossed, and Harry noted how his hands seemed clenched on his upper arms.

Instead of the denial his teacher had been anticipating, Harry gave him a bitter half grin. "Yeah, I guess it rather was, wasn't it? Er. Sorry about that. It's just that I couldn't _do_ that with anyone else. I mean, I tried, I did for a while, but…whenever I got really steamed up and started throwing a fit at someone…well. Dumbledore would just stand there and look like he felt sorry for me, and then say something that was supposed sound be wise, but was really just, on the whole, empty. And Molly Weasley would get flustered and worried, and Ron and Hermione would act all hurt, and Tonks just pretended it was all ordinary, and Moody scowled at me like he'd like to tell me off but couldn't. And Prof—um. Lupin just looked like he was ready to fall apart anyway, and couldn't take much more." At this, Harry looked furtively guilty. "You were the only one that was…ah, _normal_. And you didn't baby me about it, or try to get all sensitive and understanding." He had to hide a grin, picturing Snape getting sensitive and understanding and babying anyone about _anything_. He cleared his throat, scuffing his shoe against the floor, feeling oddly shy.

When he glanced up, Snape was giving him that _I am a suspicious bastard so I know you're up to something_ look he had. "That may be," he stated baldly, "the only time anyone has ever dared to call me normal."

Harry laughed aloud, and Snape looked, for a moment, simply astounded. It may well have been the first time he'd ever done _anything_ that had warranted a genuine smile from the boy. He quickly recovered, donning his icy glare-of-bitterness-misanthropy-and-the-will-to-torture-puppies once more, but Harry hadn't missed the look. For some reason, this made him feel even shyer. How weird, to try to converse with Snape as though he was a regular person, and not a vicious demonic sadist sent from the deepest pit of Hell merely to make Harry's life a misery.

For a long moment, they were both quiet, unable or unwilling to breach the uneasy stillness. Harry tried not to look at the Professor as the moment stretched, twisting and shuddering. Harry was so nervous he felt he might start laughing again, and not be able to stop. And it wasn't as though he had any reason to be nervous; he was just standing here with Snape, talking and arguing and taking the occasional insult. What could Snape possibly say to him that was worse than the sort of things he usually said? To his discomfort, Harry found this line of thought didn't lessen the tension between them. How odd, to feel this tautness to the air when they had done nothing except nearly share a joke, which you'd think would give a bit of release, not make the whole thing awkward. Except Snape had made a joke, and Harry couldn't remember him ever doing that. Perhaps that was it; just the strangeness of it that they couldn't get used to.

Tentatively, he glanced up through his thick lashes, seeking to make eye contact with the professor, but when he did, the man gave a quick intake of breath, and looked sharply away.

By now the tension in the room seemed to have been spun gossamer-thin, and Harry felt something sort of _twang_ inside him, and he glanced quickly back over at Snape, to see if he noticed it, too. The professor had his eyes closed, looking somehow shocked. Had he felt anything, when that silvered, fragile thread had snapped?

"You…your punishment is over for this evening," he said in a faltering voice. "Leave. You can—we can speak more of how you might defend yourself against the dark arts tomorrow." His voice grew steadily stronger as he spoke, and when he'd finished, and opened his eyes again, he was the same as Harry remembered. Harry stared at him for a long moment. "Are you planning on waiting until I physically eject you from this room?" he asked, his brows lowered.

Harry quickly shook his head. "I just thought…none of your potions were really damaged, were they? We just threw some glasses down to make it look like they'd shattered. We'd put them in the storeroom, packed in straw. We thought they'd be all right there, but the spell came out a little…it was a bit more vigorous than we'd expected."

Severus Snape pinched his lips together. "The potions were fine. No thanks to your idiocy," he muttered. "You could have easily blown something up in class, you know, if you wanted attention that badly. Or after class, since it seemed that's when you were so hell-bent on having your say."

Harry smiled at him again a little, and Severus tilted his head, waiting for a response. "Yes, well…it became obvious you weren't going to speak to me anymore, and you know I wouldn't have liked to mention Voldemort in the middle of class, or go on about how I get people killed, so I decided I'd rather do it in private. And I was so mad that you wouldn't talk to me _after_ class, so…I decided to pull a prank, in true Marauder fashion.

I figured it had to accomplish three things; one, it had to get your attention—and keep it—while making you forget you weren't speaking to me, no matter how angry you were. Two, it had to be something that incited you to put us in a position where we would be alone together, so I wouldn't freak everyone out by talking about Voldemort. I figured you would have to be _really angry_ for that to happen, and that, for the prank, my friends and I would have to do something where none of the other teachers would interrupt before that happened; in other words, somewhere closer to you than them. I really thought you'd grab me by the robes and haul me off to a torture chamber, or drag me outside and throw me in the lake or something. I figured you'd do something right away, and I'd have to talk quick. And be convincing. So that part was an utter failure on both our parts, but I realized detention alone with you would be even better; you'd have had a chance to calm down and maybe actually listen to me." He grinned at his teacher, who was gazing at him in incredulity.

"I see. So you…put some thought into this. As stupid as that sounds, and, frankly is. Putting thought into being an idiot. I did always think you could make a career out of it. And the third thing, Mister Potter? What was the third thing you meant to accomplish?" His voice lacked venom, but Snape was still looking rather skeptical and unimpressed.

"Ah. Well. The third thing…now that one wasn't…_strictly_ necessary, but I felt it needed a certain something to give it panache. You see, I'd realized I'd kind of been making a bit of a fool of myself, standing outside your office after class and trying to get you to let me back in, all the while screaming at the top of my lungs. So it was all about pride, really. Style. And for Sirius, in a way, because that's the way I felt he would go about it. Like a tribute, in a sense."

"How touching," Snape rolled his eyes, looking sour.

"Yeah. So it was important that it got your attention, really got it, had to be something you couldn't ignore. It had to force you to speak to me, alone and in private. And the third thing was to reverse our roles. I could have done it anywhere, and of course it would have been easier, to track you down after classes and ambush you somewhere. But…the _elegant_ part was forcing you to come to me."

Snape was speechless. Harry, seeing the stunned and rather offended look on his professor's face, gave the man a cherubic smile before turning gracefully on his heel and heading back to Gryffindor Tower.

So while Hermione and Ron were still languishing under Filch's oppressive glare, worried about Harry, and wondering how bad his punishment had been…Harry was waltzing through the deserted halls, grinning a little, and thinking about his detention. On the whole, he felt it had really gone rather well.


	4. How Self Abuse Can Lead to Answers

**TITLE**: The Master Plan, Chapter Four: How Self Abuse Can Lead to Answers  
**RATING**: PG-13  
**PAIRING**: HP/SS  
**DISCLAIMER**: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc.  
**BETAS**: Echotheinsane, Gemsbok, and the ubiquitous ShadowPhoenix! (So its uber-beta'd, really. I didn't take all of their suggestions, though. Author's prerogative.)**NOTES**: I apologize for not having this out on time, but apparently my beta went to sit for his niece, rather than doing his damn job! (And next time he chooses her over my brilliant work, she gets stuffed in the oven, Gretel-style. Or the witch. I guess it was really the witch, wasn't it?) Really, though, he's fabulous. Plus, I was working on the hilarious next chapter of the Ginny/Draco, which had _better_ be funny, since I'm damn well not gonna make it sexy! This is crossposted…lotsa places. What else did I want to say? Oh, yeah. Adores on Stellahobbit More for Commander! salutes EVERYONE on their knees!  
**SUMMARY**: After Harry's fifth year, he decides needs someone to train him to survive the ongoing war against Voldemort. Severus Snape isn't hopeful he'll survive the war; all he's looking to do is save Potter once and for all—from his own stupidity, if nothing else. What he finds is redemption. And they both find a little laughter and hope along the way. Harry contemplates a newfound interest in Snape

**Chapter Four: How Self Abuse Can Lead to Answers**

Harry lay in his four-poster bed, staring up into darkness. Soft snores were coming from Neville's bed, but the rest of the room lay under a thick blanket of muffled sleep. Ron still had not returned from detention with Filch, and Harry felt a twinge of regret at that. Still, that could be fixed. That could be his next goal, right? Getting Snape to change their punishment. He was sure it could be done. How to outdo Snape again?…

He grinned and laced his hands behind his head, reliving the night. He'd had a fantastic time, if he was going to be honest about it—which he probably was not, come to think of it, not even with Ron and Hermione. Because to tell the truth, and here his smile slipped a little, he was pretty sure mentioning he'd enjoyed himself—no, even _having_ enjoyed himself, alone with Snape, and the two of them insulting and trying to one-up each other…and finding each other even the least bit amusing, well. Well, there had to be something wrong with it, didn't there? That's what Ron and Hermione would think. He could picture the disbelief on their faces when he told them. They'd ask about how horrible it was, and what had happened.

And he'd shrug casually and say, "Oh, it was actually quite a lark, hanging about with Snape. I didn't really have to do much of anything punishment-wise, and he let me sit there and be all arrogant and rude and mess him about a bit, and then we just had this sort of man-to-man talk. And then he made a joke, and I laughed, and. And we shared this odd kind of surprisingly magical moment, the kind where you sort of feel butterflies inside, and happy and nervous and confused, all at the same time? And it strung its way out, until it was almost humming; I swear you could almost hear it, like a thrum from a string on a guitar. Oh, and then it went and snapped, for no reason at all, and then things were normal, but they weren't, and I don't think they'll ever be normal again.

"Of course, I don't know what it all meant, but maybe I do and I just don't want to admit it, not even to myself. And then I went and did one better than Snape in witty remarks, and walked away feeling like I could fly, and I think it was just about the best bloody moment of my life. And he let me go early, too, because I think, on the whole, he might actually be rather fond of me, in a way I'd rather not think about just now. And that was pretty much it. Kind of dull, huh? And how was you're punishment, by the way?"

Oh, but oh, yes. That would be a conversation worth having. Their faces would move from disbelief to confusion to disgust to horror, all in just a few minutes. And he did _not_ actually just think any of that. He muffled a groan by rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. God, what was _wrong_ with him? And of course, there had to _be_ something wrong, if he was thinking thoughts like that. Was it because he was under so much stress? Yes, that might be it. People do odd things when they're under a lot of pressure, and he was almost always under a lot of pressure. Mmmh. That _could_ be it. He felt his nose scrunch up as he thought about it. Didn't think about it. He wouldn't think about it. That was all. _Just turn your brain off, Harry. Just turn your brain off and stop thinking. Snape would say you're GOOD at that. Oh, damn! Not supposed to be thinking about Snape, supposed to be thinking about. Girls. And Quidditch. And Voldemort killing you—catching you and torturing you and killing you any number of interesting ways. Any one of which would be less upsetting than the thoughts you are thinking RIGHT NOW._

Finally, Harry gave up and slid out of bed. This was almost as bad as Sirius dying. At least other people really could empathize about that, even if he didn't want to see it. Developing some sort of sick obsession with Snape, _that_ was something that had probably never been done by _anyone_ before. Had it? Had he ever been less than incredibly awful to somebody, to the point where they actually _liked_ the man? Harry snorted. Not bloody likely. But. It _could_ have happened, at some point. You never really knew, did you? It suddenly struck Harry how very little he knew about the man. Who he hung about with, what he did for fun, why he wanted the Defense position so badly. Did Death Eaters have tea parties? He supposed they must have done. Well, not tea parties, _per se_, but something to amuse themselves, aside from torturing Muggles and plotting the Dark Lord's ascendancy. But maybe they did do things like that for amusement; he could picture it really. 'And then, the _funniest_ thing happened, oh, you won't believe it! The _man's head fell off_! Yes, that's just what I said, too! I laughed so hard I dropped all the thumbscrews! And what did you and Lucius do Friday? Oh, yes. Well, breaking and entering is all very well, but if you're not pillaging and raping, you're just not living!'

Harry sighed. He really hoped Snape didn't do things like that, when he was off spying for the Order. But if they asked him to, he'd almost have to, wouldn't he? Or they'd know. They'd guess. He felt his stomach give a lurch. This wasn't helping _anything_. And he probably didn't have any real friends. Spies didn't have friends; they couldn't afford the risk. And he wasn't well liked in his school days, so there probably wasn't anyone then, either. Was there? And suddenly, it occurred to Harry; he couldn't answer most of the questions plaguing him tonight, but this question…he knew someone that might just be able to answer it.

Feeling slightly more cheerful, he slipped his invisibility cloak on. Creeping out of the room, he slipped down through the vacant common room, and carefully made his way past the Fat Lady. The halls were silent and empty. That was all right with Harry. He might actually have to wake someone up tonight, but that only bothered him a little, as well. Maybe he was just as self-centered as Snape accused him of being. But no, just talking would do them both a world of good, he was absolutely sure of it. And somewhere out there, Filch was scowling and being menacing, and Ron and Hermione were having to do some awful, boring task. And maybe Snape was still awake, swishing back and forth across his own chambers, dark robes fluttering imperially behind him.

Harry gave another wide grin, and tiptoed down the hall, feeling dangerous and daring and utterly, utterly at home again. Finally at home, at Hogwarts and with himself. This was the way things were supposed to be; Snape provoking him, and him, in response, doing something without ever thinking it through completely. He crept easily through the night, across the shadowed corridors and down echoing staircases, toward where he knew a certain visiting werewolf was lodging.


	5. Paying a Visit to a Terrifying, Bloodthi...

**TITLE**: The Master Plan, Chapter Five: Paying a Visit to a Terrifying, Bloodthirsty Monster. But Not Snape. This Time.  
**RATING**: PG-13  
**PAIRING**: HP/SS  
**DISCLAIMER**: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc.  
**BETAS**: Echotheinsane, Gemsbok, and the ubiquitous ShadowPhoenix! (So its uber-beta'd, really. I didn't take all of their suggestions, though. Author's prerogative.)  
**NOTES**: Ah, there isn't any actual Snarry in this chapter, but it's still good, and useful in other ways. Besides, I think that Lupin is one sexy werewolf. Gotta have a bit of Remus somewhere. salutes EVERYONE on their knees!  
**SUMMARY**: After Harry's fifth year, he decides needs someone to train him to survive the ongoing war against Voldemort. Severus Snape isn't hopeful he'll survive the war; all he's looking to do is save Potter once and for all—from his own stupidity, if nothing else. What he finds is redemption. And they both find a little laughter and hope along the way. Harry takes his confusion to someone more knowledgeable.

**Chapter Five: Paying a Visit to a Terrifying, Bloodthirsty Monster. But Not Snape. This Time.**

Lupin looked very surprised when he opened his door. "Harry?" He stepped back, blinking sleepily, and Harry took it as an invitation to enter his chambers, biting his lip as he looked back at his former professor. "Well…I must say, this is unexpected." The werewolf ran a hand through his graying hair, looking distracted. He blinked intelligent amber eyes at the boy, as if this would somehow change what he saw; most of a messy-haired youth, eyes shining with good humor and mischief, standing barefoot in front of him in red pajamas, an invisibility cloak still half wrapped around his shoulders.

lj-cut Harry tried to look contrite, but the cloak and dagger venture through the castle was still too much with him, and he was unable to stop the wide, sparkling smile that spread across his face. "Erm. Hi," he said, ducking his head a little. "Yeah, I would have written ahead, but I thought I'd be trapped with the World's Most Misanthropic Potions Professor for most of the night, and I never expected a chance to stop by." He shrugged and gave another winning smile.

Lupin seemed startled by this, and a series of emotions fought for control of his face. First, he seemed confused; this was understandable, his own mussed hair spoke of actually having lain on it and slept, and Harry once again felt a jolt of guilt, to be waking him from a sleep he so badly needed. Next, he seemed suspicious, Harry thought, perhaps as though he was wondering why Harry was wandering around the school so late at night, but he also might just have been concerned; Harry had hardly spoken to him for months, and had never sought him out during this time for any reason. Then he seemed mild, but mild in that way that Harry rather suspected meant he was actually upset about something, and was covering up really well.

"Ah. Yes. I'd…heard something about that. Are you quite all right? Severus didn't…physically hurt you, did he? Or something of that nature? Harry, if you need me to intervene, I'll—"

"No! No, it's nothing like that, Prof—er. Lu—um. Re, Remus," he finally managed to stutter out, feeling the unfamiliar word against his tongue. Why was it so difficult to call his former professor by name, even after he'd asked Harry to do so? It was as though the word was more than a transient label, but a permanent fixture in the man's personality. What would it be like to call Snape by his first name? Harry wondered. Impossible to imagine. Like calling Draco Malfoy 'Baby cakes.' The mind recoiled. "Um. No, it wasn't anything like that at all." He stared at the older man, taking in the lines on his face, the tiredness that never seemed to get wiped away, and the worried, hesitant features, as he stood hovering, always reluctant to reach out and give anyone the most casual touch. And above all, the aura Lupin had, which Harry had always been drawn to. It was a mixture of sadness, gentleness and regret, as well as comfort, competency and keen intelligence.

"Did you…did you want to talk to me?" Lupin asked him gently, eyebrows raised. He was worrying his lower lip and Harry noticed that his hands, which he normally had such control over, were twining and untwining themselves. There was a certain pain in the man's voice, but Harry thought he detected a hint of hope as well.

_They all must have been really about me,_ he thought. _And he looks as though he's nervous about me turning around, losing it, and screaming at him._ Harry coughed, looking away for a long moment. "Uh. Could—could we sit down a moment?" he finally ventured softly.

Lupin jumped at that. "Of course, Harry! Here, we'll just, in—in the other room, here," he led Harry to a ratty couch and a couple of overstuffed armchairs. Harry was sure he could have found something better at Hogwarts; he wondered if even the furniture might be attuned to its occupant's moods and accommodate them accordingly. They were almost as tired and worn out as the occupant.

Harry sat across from the man, and avoided his gaze for a long time, trying to put his thoughts in order. There was one that begged to be said first, but he wasn't sure how to approach it, or even if he should. It would take a far different bravery than he was used to. It would, in fact, require thought, and perhaps that made Snape right about him again; maybe he did brave things because they were stupid things, and they were just a way to avoid thinking about them. Finally, Harry gave a sigh. Lupin looked apprehensive, but stayed silent. Harry was grateful; the man hadn't pushed or pressured him, he just waited patiently for Harry to find the words.

"Will you promise me something?" Harry asked abruptly. His green eyes held a layer of anxiety.

Lupin seemed to consider this gravely, before giving a slight nod. "If I can, Harry. You do realize, you may be asking me for something I don't have any power over, or cannot give." His eyes were filled with concern and sadness.

"Nope. I think you could promise it, if you really wanted to. I mean, if you meant it, and kept it in mind and were careful, and all."

Lupin blinked. "All right," he said slowly. "What is it, Harry?"

Harry bit his lip. "Promise you won't laugh at me tonight. I mean, laughing _with_ me is okay, but not like…please don't look at me like I'm a kid. I would just…just really like it, if you heard me out and took me seriously, and kind of…considered what I had to say. Like, give weight to it, like my thoughts and feelings matter as much as anyone's. Just treat me like you know that I mean it, and have a right to say it, that's all," he finished lamely. He hunched his shoulders, hands clasped tightly in his lap. He had no right to ask, and he knew it, but Lupin usually treated him that way all the time anyway. It was just that now he was asking for the chance to earn it.

Lupin obviously didn't understand what Harry was getting at, but he could tell it was very important. He had to handle the whole situation delicately; he never knew what kind of mood Harry would fly into these days, and he'd give anything to hang onto this delicate peace between them. Very earnestly, he nodded and said, "Of course, Harry. Whatever you have to say, you should do so knowing that I respect you, and any conversation we have will be founded on that respect."

It was such a sincere, corny, Lupin type of thing to say, and Harry gave him a grin. Lupin felt himself relax. He'd apparently passed the test, if there'd been one. He tried to give Harry an encouraging smile. "And don't argue with me," Harry added abruptly, and Lupin stopped smiling.

"I'll try," he frowned.

Harry took a deep breath and looked determined, and Lupin reflected that he'd never seen Harry look so much like his father. The boy let a long breath out. "Remus, I'm sorry," he informed the man. "I know I've done and said a lot of things this year; a lot of awful, rotten, hateful, unforgivable things. Now wait—" he raised a hand, preventing Lupin from interrupting, and the werewolf closed his mouth again. "I know what you'd probably say; something about stress and grief and how we all deal with it in our own way, and how I've already been through so much, and no one should have gone through what I've been through at my age. Trust me, I know all kind of that stuff by heart.

"And maybe I could use those excuses, when I'm talking to Ron or Hermione. Or with Dumbledore, or Tonks, or just about anyone else, for that matter. But nothing gives me the right to use that on you. Because you went through everything I did when Sirius died; more, I've no doubt, because you'd been friends longer and the whole thing was—well…_you _know; how you thought he was the one who betrayed my parents, and how he'd switched Secret Keepers because he thought you were. And…you haven't had it easy, even outside of that. I've heard you talk about how when you were younger; you had no friends because you were a werewolf, and how painful your transformations are, and how scared you are that you'd get someone killed. Kill someone, whatever. The point is; you were there and you've done that, and watched him die, same as I did…and you were just as caring and decent to me—and everyone else—as you always are. And I wasn't. And I, I really appreciate your patience with me. I know I've put you through hell, and I know how hard it probably was to try to be nice all the time—ungrateful brat that I am, you should have just smacked me, you know; it probably would have shocked me into shutting up, or talking, whichever I wasn't doing at the time. Or asked Snape to do it; he would have been happy to oblige."

"If he ever raised a hand to you I'll rip his arms off and beat him to death with his own fists," Remus replied tightly, his posture tense. Harry gaped at him. "I know I'm not around much, anymore—I'm only at Hogwarts when I have Order business here, but I hope you'd tell me if something like that ever happened. He didn't hit you, did he Harry?" the man continued anxiously. When Harry shook his head emphatically, Remus relaxed and looked a little embarrassed.

"Um. No, never," Harry continued. "Anyway. And you offered comfort as well as you could; considering there was none to be had for you.

"And if you. If you ever—want—to talk, about Sirius, about what happened. If you need somebody to lean on or even somebody to yell at…I mean; I know how you feel. And you're not the last one left, Remus. You don't—you aren't alone. And I'm not afraid of you, and yes, I do understand the risks and all, and I'll never be stupid about the werewolf thing. I just. I know you miss Sirius, and I know you're probably hurting more a lot too, and I also know perfectly well that it's none of my business and all that, but it's offered, anyway. An ear. If you want it. Or a shoulder, take your pick. An arm or a leg, if that's what it takes. And I really hope, just this once, that you can take this for how it's meant; you don't have to take me up on any of it, but I'd appreciate being treated like an adult for the next few minutes, even though I know I haven't earned it. And I would really like it a lot if you'd consider me your friend, and accept my apology. Er. And forgive me. Even though I really don't deserve it."

Harry looked bashfully at Remus and offered his hand, being just as adult as he could think to be. Remus, whose eyes were suspiciously bright, reached out and took it, and pulled Harry into a bear hug. Or a wolf hug, as the case may be. In any case, it rather crushed Harry's ribs a bit, and the muffled noises Remus was making were a bit embarrassing, but Harry figured, you had to embarrass yourself occasionally, if you wanted to be a man about it.

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Remus beamed at Harry over his cup of tea. "You know, I used to think you were just like your father, in so many ways. But now I've realized that you're likeSirius too, and even, perhaps, in small ways like me as well." His lips curled upward. "Like all of us," he said brightly. "You always reminded me of Sirius, actually, as much as James. Well, yes…looks. But what are looks, really? I always thought of you as something out of the same mold as Sirius; you've always had that predilection for drama, and you're just as protective of your friends. Sirius was like that, too. Always over the top, always having to rush headlong into anything if someone had only dared him to. Blowing up the potions lab—that was a thing Sirius would have done." At this, Harry sat a little straighter and grinned. So he'd been right! But then he leaned forward, eager to hear more of Lupin's reminiscences. He so rarely offered any, and Harry was eager for every little detail. He watched as the werewolf's face softened in recollection. "But you are like James, too. Mostly in looks, but in other ways. The way you tend to do the right thing, even when it takes a great deal of bravery. I certainly never had that trait. And that strength, that strength that I think Sirius and Peter and I all took for granted back in school; something we hadn't even noticed until it wasn't ours to depend on anymore. He stopped, sipping his tea and staring into space.

"I'm not as smart as you are, though," Harry interjected, wondering how Lupin felt _they_ were alike. "And I don't stay calm and think things through the way you do. And I don't always know just the right thing to say, when someone's upset, and I don't have that self-control that you do. And I'm not able to be nice to people who are being rude to me or my friends. And I'm not mature and responsible, either," he pointed out.

Lupin had a small smile through all this, and raised a brow slightly at the last assertion. "You don't think so? What you said tonight required a great deal of maturity, and I rather think you put some thought and effort into it as well. I also think I could point out any number of situations that you dealt with calmly, despite the pressure you were under at the time. Don't sell yourself short, Harry. And as for not knowing just the right thing to say when someone is upset, I'd have to point out once again that you did admirably this evening. And I hardly think that's a skill I have in spades; I didn't say one single thing since the Department of Mysteries that's done you any good at all. I was at a complete loss, and I felt it. And since I couldn't think of anything comforting to say to you, I too often fell back on not saying anything at all. I'm afraid I handled the whole thing rather badly."

"That's not true at all," Harry protested hoarsely. "You said and did _everything_ right. And when you didn't say anything; that was probably the most comforting thing of all. Like you knew you couldn't just say a few magic words and make it better, but you could hang out with me and spend the time he couldn't have spent. And you manage to be polite to Snape. I mean, if that doesn't mean you're a born diplomat, I don't know what would."

Lupin chuckled a little at this. "I've seen you be tactful, as well. And I have heard, through reliable sources, that you're quite patient when giving instruction."

Harry slowly smiled at that. "Yeah, I have been told I'm a pretty good teacher. And in Defense, too. 'Cause I know it's all about practical experience coupled with encouragement, and knowing how to adjust your lessons to the people you're trying to teach. I guess I can see where I picked that up." He gave Lupin a sly glance over his teacup, and was amused to see the pink-cheeked werewolf looked a little sheepish, but pleased.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I'm glad I can say I've not been a _completely_ useless old crank," he said, eyes sparkling. He sighed and leaned back in his seat, and they were both contentedly at ease for a few moments. "Harry?" Lupin finally queried.

"Mmm?"

"Is this why you came to visit me tonight? To…to apologize, and perhaps talk about things like Sirius, and that sort of thing?" His amber eyes were piercing, and there was just a hint of doubt in his voice.

"Well…no, not completely," Harry admitted. "I kind of had something that I wanted to talk with you about. Something kind of crazy, I guess." He looked up to see Remus giving him a complacent smile, shrewd eyes dancing. "Hey…you knew, didn't you?" Harry exclaimed. "I would have thought all this…sappy emotional 'bonding' would be kind of enough."

"It _was_ cathartic, actually," Remus told him, and then gave him an enigmatic smile. "I _did_ know it wasn't just to apologize, and that it was something important," he replied.

Harry mumbled, "It's not really a big deal. I wouldn't call it all that important, or anything. Actually, I would have to say it's not at all important." He gave a breezy wave of his hand, but didn't look Remus in the eye.

"Ah. Really? It's not all that important, but just important enough to leave you sleepless, get you out of bed at two in the morning, and have you giving your former Defense professor the most eloquent apology you could conceive, in the hope that he might be able to give you some insight or instruction into the not-at-all important matter…hmm?" Remus had a gleam in his eyes, and for a moment Harry could see the wolf in him, not a werewolf, exactly, just a regular wolf, which after, all are much more intelligent than dogs, in a wild, natural sort of way. Just for a moment, Harry had an impression of those amber eyes, flashing out at him, lupine smile on his face, and just the suggestion of the tip of a silver tail wagging somewhere in the background. Harry shook his head a bit, and the vision was gone.

"Something wrong, Harry?" Remus asked him.

"Hmm? Oh, no. Nothing. And…I guess I only thought it was important. I shouldn't have woken you up with it, though."

"Do you still want to talk about it?"

"Well, kind of." He looked anxiously at Remus, wondering if he should just let the poor man get back to sleep. Remus gave an encouraging nod, though, so Harry felt he might as well get at least some of it off his chest. "Erm. Remus, what would you do if you, kind of like…wanted to be friends with someone, someone your friends probably wouldn't like? Someone who maybe doesn't like you, or maybe they do? And you can't tell the difference, because you don't really know them, but you're not sure if you should even try to get to know them, because your friends might be upset and not want you to be friends with them?" He wondered how complicated this sounded to Remus, and whether he could express it more simply without giving the wrong impression. Or the right impression, which would be even worse.

"Hmm…" Remus replied, looking thoughtful. "That sounds rather how I felt about Severus Snape, when we were back at school." He took a sip of his tea, closing his eyes and missing the look on Harry's face, which rather gave the impression that he was choking on his own tongue. He tried to get some composure before Remus looked up. "I didn't really dislike him, you see, the way Sirius and James did. And he was very smart, and could be quite amusing, in a poisoned-tongue sort of way. He wasn't absolutely horrible to me, either, at least not until after the incident with the Shrieking Shack. In the earlier years, I would have rather liked to call him a friend, but I was never able to stand up to your father and Sirius about it. I'm afraid I was just too dependent on their friendship to risk really challenging them about it. But I did try to be nice, although I'm certain he didn't appreciate it. But why should he have done, really?" Lupin sighed. "Considering I wasn't much of a friend, the way I let James and Sirius…well. You know. But he did fight back, occasionally. And sometimes, he even got a bit of his own back. Like that time Sirius caught him with a Hue Changing Charm—_Squerpulus Evanescium_—I think it was, and he turned a shade of glow-in-the-dark purple for almost a month…then he turned around and slipped Sirius and the rest of us an Unmitigated Adulation potion, which is every bit as bad a love potion, and James and Sirius followed him around for two weeks, proclaiming him the next Messiah, and…" Remus went on and on, and Harry was half trying not to hear.

"Hmph," Harry replied, both wanting and not wanting to know. He could definitely see how Snape wouldn't want people prying into this. After working so hard to be seen as someone impressive, someone intimidating, trying to forget people ever used to treat him like that, he would be upset—to use a euphemism for 'evisceratingly-angry,' to know Harry was hearing about things like this. "Didn't he have any friends?" Harry interrupted.

Remus shrugged. "Well, yes. A few. But they were all dark wizards, Death Eaters in the end, and that sort of person is hardly loyal enough to stand up to people like James and Sirius. They might have helped him plot a few vengeful tricks, but they'd never have done anything to draw attention to themselves. Rosier made the occasional snide remark, as I recall, but it was never really on Snape's behalf."

"Oh," said Harry quietly, pulling at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Girlfriends, then? The kind that wear black lipstick and too much eye-shadow and always glare at everybody?"

Remus laughed at that. "I think you'll find that that's actually rather a new look, despite the Wizarding world's progressiveness in other areas. No, I don't think Snape was ever interested in anyone. He always seemed too interested in learning. Books, curses, potions. Those were the only things he really had time for, so far as I could tell. At any rate, you came here to talk about your potential friend, not Severus Snape."

Harry ducked his head quickly when he heard that, hoping the furious heat in his face would subside quickly. He really wasn't ready to get into any of that, yet. Luckily, Lupin was still talking, seemingly oblivious to Harry's discomfort.

"But because of my experience with Snape, I think I can offer you this advice; don't mind what anybody says, and don't let anyone else decide your feelings for you. And if Hermione and Ron are good friends, and I think they are, they'll come to understand when you tell them that they don't have to like this person, but you do, and they'll have to accept it. Just stand your ground, Harry. You're good at that. And this person may not entertain your overtures of friendship, but it's certainly worth the effort of trying. Friends are very precious things, Harry. I think you and I both know now that a really good friend is never to be taken for granted." Harry nodded and they smiled sadly at each other for a long moment. "And any time you can spend with someone you like is truly priceless. Does that help at all?"

Harry returned his grin. "Yeah. You're absolutely right about everything. As usual. I don't know how anybody's going to react—not even me, really—but I'd like to try, anyway. I'll just do it carefully and take things slowly. I'm certainly not going to force my company on anyone." He wrinkled his nose, looking chagrinned. "Well, I'll try not to in the future, at any rate." _So blowing up his classroom again to get detention with him is out._

Lupin laughed, thinking Harry was talking about him. "Don't worry about it, Harry. I really am awfully glad you came here tonight. I appreciate it; really, you did as much for me tonight as ever I've done for you. And remember, whenever I'm visiting Hogwarts, you should feel free to visit, any time at all. I'm not upset that you came here so late. In fact, I'd say it shows a certain trust and depth of friendship that I am really quite honoured to have offered me."

Harry waved a hand in an 'it was nothing' gesture. "Well," he said, rising to his feet, and then almost off them as he stretched in a great yawn. "I guess I'd better be heading back to bed. Good grief, I'm going to be utterly _useless_ tomorrow." He looked at Lupin, wondering if he'd get any sort of parental lecture on the subject, but Lupin just rumbled a bit of a chuckle at him.

"Serves you right, then, for staying up until all hours and mercilessly bothering your elders." He, too, gave a bit of a yawn. "I have to leave tomorrow afternoon, you know, so if you need me before then, feel free to find me." He walked Harry to the door. "But I'll be back in a few weeks, and I'll be around on and off, I'm sure."

Harry pulled the cloak around himself, just leaving a hand free a moment to wave goodbye. He smiled as he walked away. He pictured the werewolf counting sheep, and himself counting werewolves. He was sure both he and Lupin would sleep better, now.


	6. Because I Said So

**TITLE**: The Master Plan, Chapter Six: Because I Said So  
**RATING**: PG-13  
**PAIRING**: HP/SS  
**DISCLAIMER**: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc.  
**BETAS**: Echotheinsane, Gemsbok, and the ubiquitous ShadowPhoenix! (So it's uber-beta'd, really. I didn't take all of their suggestions, though. Author's prerogative.)  
**NOTES**: I've almost got chapter four of the Ginny/Draco sorted out, and it is SO FABULOUS. Plot. I HAVE PLOT! I could weep with joy, really. Anyway, kisses and adoration to you all! salutes EVERYONE on their knees!  
**SUMMARY**: After Harry's fifth year, he decides needs someone to train him to survive the ongoing war against Voldemort. Severus Snape isn't hopeful he'll survive the war; all he's looking to do is save Potter once and for all—from his own stupidity, if nothing else. What he finds is redemption. And they both find a little laughter and hope along the way. Harry takes his confusion to someone more knowledgeable. Chapter Six: In which Harry, thinking progress has been made, has his next detention with Snape.

**Chapter Six: Because I Said So**

Harry ran into Ron as he was turning the corner to go up to Gryffindor tower—quite literally, almost knocking them both over. "Oooph!" Ron exclaimed, rubbing his stomach where Harry had accidentally jabbed an elbow.

"Gosh, I'm sorry about that!" Harry exclaimed, whipping off the invisibility cloak. He'd been so glad after having got all this weird, emotional stuff out of his system finally, that he was really quite ready for sleep and had walked back from Lupin's rooms halfway dead already. He'd been in too much of a sleepy daze to notice Ron. "I didn't see you there!"

"Nor I you!" Ron shot back, giving Harry a look. "But at least I have an excuse! I think you've dislocated my spleen," he muttered vengefully, still sore. "First I get five hours with Filch, on my hands and knees with the nastiest bleaching potion fumes you've ever smelled coming up at me, scrubbing until my hands blistered and my knees bled—they actually bled, I tell you! And then you have to go and try to plow me over like some kind of bludger that's gone round the bend."

Harry looked contrite, though Ron couldn't have known it was more because of Ron's punishment than Harry's having run into him. "Oh, Ron, I really am sorry. I shouldn't have done—anything! I'll make it up to you—you and Hermione both, I promise!" Harry told him, quite sincerely miserable.

"All right, all right," Ron tried to pacify him. "It wasn't anything much really. Don't worry about it! At least we weren't both at the top of the stairs when you hurtled into me; we might have both ended up at the bottom with broken necks. And anyway, er, Filch actually wasn't there for quite a bit of the detention, so it wasn't so bad. Kept going off on his own; I was sure he was sneaking off to take a nip or two. But then Snape showed up, and the two of them slipped away for a while…Was he with you the whole night? Because it seemed like he kept ducking into _our_ detention, which really wasn't fair, to have Snape _and_ Filch. I could've cried when he sat down and started discussing Vanishing Potions versus Invisibility Spells and Blurring Charms, because, as he put it; what the hell is the difference anyway as long as you can't see the stain?"

"Er, he wasn't there for most of the beginning, come to think of it," Harry replied evasively, unsure how to tell Ron that neither one of them had, in fact, completed the entire detention.

"Well, he seemed to have been with us for most of the end," Ron said rolling his eyes. "I don't know how he could have been with you at all, then. But that was all right," he added quickly, seeing Harry's face fill up with guilt once more, "he kind of kept Filch distracted, and he didn't pay any of attention to us at all, so it was a relief in a way, not having anyone really watching. And they were saying the weirdest things. I mean; it was kind of too much of an intellectual discussion to imagine anyone having with Filch, but at the same time it was kind of, oh, I don't know, too trivial a conversation to hear Snape taking part in. Really, Harry, it was odd. Like surreal.

"Snape would go, 'You could always try some of my Repellant Potion on the Astronomy Tower doors. That should keep the little buggers at bay, and they wouldn't even know why. There would only be one or two in the school intelligent enough to concoct the Anti-Repellant Potion, so the likelihood would be good that it would stay on.'

"And Filch would go, 'And one of 'em's Hermione Granger,' he jerked a thumb at her, 'and you've just gone and told her what would get it off.'

"And Snape gives him a cynical look and says, 'Goody-goody Granger? What has she ever done, aside from pretending to blow up my potions lab? Not even the backbone to really do it, she's not about to go messing about at the Astronomy Tower. She'd get a _reputation_ if she was ever caught near the Astronomy Tower.'

"'Aye,' says Filch, 'but the other one that could do is your Draco Malfoy. And he _would_ do it, too.'

"And Snape gives this sigh and says, 'Yes, he really would. And then he'd be spraying the room with _Mélange of Lust_ just to spite you, and it'd be utter bedlam up there. Not to mention the small fact that Repellant Potion would render Sinistra unable to gain admittance to her own classroom, which, given the state of my own, I can hardly say I'd fail to sympathize with. Well, perhaps I would, but that would leave us another classroom short, and the little beasts are already undisciplined enough, they'd go thinking it was a holiday and simply double their efforts at indolence.'"

At this, Harry gave a muffled snicker. "Yeah, that sounds like Snape all right."

"Er, speaking of which," Ron said, as they made their way upstairs, "was he really horrible to you tonight? I mean, I have to admit; I'm kind of surprised to see you…you know, looking so normal and healthy. You haven't been hexed into a prancing pig, beaten to a pulp, or even unable to complete a sentence due to the mind-numbing horror of having spent detention with Snape. What'd he do to you?"

Harry tried to look casual and yet maintain the impression that he hadn't enjoyed himself. "Eh. Could've been worse. He had me do lines, mostly, and stood there and insulted me and that sort of thing. Usual stuff, I guess. Look; let's not wake the others up. They're sure to want to know how it went, and I'm really going to be a zombie as it is," he said, changing the topic. "Why're you out so late, though? I expected Filch to let you go hours ago."

Harry was amazed when Ron's ears turned pink. "I—ah. I would've expected Snape to have done the same," he responded, sounding strangely defensive. Harry shrugged it off. So maybe they both had something they didn't particularly want to talk about. For maybe the first time in his life, he could do the smart thing and let it drop.

"All right, then," he told Ron, yawning and grinning at the same time, and they both relaxed a bit. Tomorrow, maybe Harry would be able to start thinking of a way to make it up to Ron and Hermione. Maybe—if exhaustion didn't addle his brain and keep him from thinking up anything aside from putting one foot in front of the other and making it through the day. God, he was going to be _so_ done in tomorrow. Still, as he climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up over his head, he had to admit it was totally worth it.

The next day was worse than Harry had ever imagined. It started out with him being so tired, he accidentally put on one of Dean's robes; although he considered it wasn't really his fault, they all left their clothes all over the place, and it could have easily happened before. It was just that Dean was so tall, and Harry so…less so, that it was very noticeable, and all day long people kept pointing it out. And Harry admitted they were Dean's, and it all led to some highly embarrassing jokes and rumors.

And at breakfast, Harry had gone and put some mango on his tray, and was grateful that Hermione noticed and pointed it out, because he was allergic to mango and would've swelled up like a hippopotamus and died. Then, in Transfiguration, he'd been unable to stay awake enough to keep track of what was going on, so instead of transfiguring the bracelet in front of him into a centipede, he managed to change his transfiguration notes into a sheet cake, and then couldn't transform them back. He thought he'd lived through the worst of the day when he actually fell asleep in Charms, but then came Quidditch practice, where he was so sluggish he didn't get out of Katie's way in time and they both ran into a tree. And after all of that came…(_Duh duh duhhh, _Harry couldn't help thinking) detention with Snape.

He'd really had high hopes for tonight, because of all the revelations of the night before, and what he'd liked to think of as his newfound maturity, but he had to admit, well… It was really difficult to be mature after less than three hours of sleep, ten hours of 'Aw, Dean, it's so swee-eeet. He must simply _pine_ without you if he feels like wearing your clothes, just to remind him of you,' various incidences of 'I don't care if you _are_ hungry, Mister Potter. A sheet cake is not a centipede, and you were supposed to change the bracelet,' 'Could someone hit Potter with an Alarm Charm? Only he's snoring…' and of course, the dreadful feeling of ending up in a heap of arms and legs and very angry Katie Bell at the base of a particularly unforgiving oak tree.

But even all of that he might have handled, if he hadn't dragged himself into the Transfiguration room again only to hear the words, "You are almost three minutes late, Mister Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor." And looked up to see a chillingly indifferent Snape standing before a blackboard that read, 'BECAUSE PROFESSOR SNAPE SAID SO.' Harry felt a scowl form on his face as he realized what he'd be expected to copy a hundred-odd times tonight.

"Get to work, Potter," Snape snapped, and went to sit at the back of the classroom. Harry stared at him in disbelief, and the professor added, "Do I need to speak more slowly? More clearly? Do I need to retrieve my Academic to Ignoramus dictionary so I can translate it into a language you actually speak?"

Harry blinked angrily a couple of times before moving before the board. What was going on? Snape had said they'd discuss Defense Against the Dark Arts. He'd seemed…less completely vicious than this last night. Taking a deep breath, Harry started to write, trying to keep calm. He'd promised himself he'd try harder to keep his temper, but Snape was already making it difficult. Biting his lip, he risked a quick glimpse over his shoulder, to see the man glaring heatedly at him.

"The next time you feel the need to turn around and look at me, you're going to get a Hammering Hex right between the eyes." Harry was so surprised at this, he dropped the chalk. As he straightened, he caught Snape's eye again and this flustered him so badly, he dropped it again. He heard Snape snort. "Are you less frightened of the Dark Lord than of me, or is it that you just happened to drop something whenever he aimed a curse at your head? It is astounding, but your unrelenting gracelessness is on the level with your fatuousness and your overwhelming conceit."

At this, Harry finally straightened up and glowered at the professor. He didn't know what the man's problem was, but it was stopping right here. "What is the matter with you, anyway?" he demanded, causing Snape's eyes to narrow dangerously. "I'd asked you for help with defense, and you seemed like we might at least discuss it. And you were almost human last night. Near the end, anyway. What the hell changed?"

Snape stood up quickly, and the homicidal look on his face scared Harry so badly that he took a step backwards, tripped over the wastepaper bin, gave a squeak of dismay and landed on his rear end, sprawled partly behind the teacher's desk. He tried to quickly get back on his feet, using McGonagall's chair for support, but he only managed to pull the chair over on top of himself. "Managed to kill yourself yet, Potter?" Horrified, Harry looked up at Snape, who was suddenly standing majestically over him, dark robes still fluttering ever so slightly from crossing the room, an impeccable eyebrow raised.

He thought for a long moment the man would continue to speak; throw some humiliating insults down at him (Harry certainly couldn't remember ever having given him such ammunition before), but his mouth only opened and shut a few times. Suddenly, he turned his back to Harry, and Harry saw the aristocratically thin shoulders shaking a little. Frowning, Harry shoved the chair off him, and finally managed to regain his feet. _What's going on?_ he wondered. "Um. Sir? Are you all right?..." he tentatively asked, trying to get close enough to see what was happening, and still stay out of Snape's reach.

The Potions Master was making smothered hissing noises. His hands covered most of his face. Suddenly, as though it was all just too much effort, the man leaned into one of the student's chairs and collapsed, elbows on the desk, face in his hands. When he took them away, a mirthful, rolling, reverberating bass sound came out, and Harry stared at the man, staggered. Hell must have finally frozen over.

Severus Snape was laughing.


	7. Snarkiness and Mind Games

Chapter Seven: Snarkiness and Mind Games

Harry stared for a long time, unsure what to do, or think, or feel. On the one hand, it made the Potions Master more human, and that was rather pleasant, but still, Harry knew he was the one being laughed at. He sighed. He always knew one day he would do something that would cause Snape to simply lose it. He just didn't know it would involve falling over a trashcan.

Snape was finally starting to calm down, still muttering, "…Unrelenting…unmitigated…interminable…mind-boggling…inimitable… _gracelessness_," as he wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

Harry slid into a seat near the man, face, as often, glowing red. "Well," he said, sounding as bitter as he probably felt, "I certainly hope you've got that out of your system, because we need to have a little chat. Oh, and I'm terribly glad that you're so dreadfully amused by my shortcomings, I truly am. Oh, thank you so much, Severus Snape. Are you quite finished, yet?"

"Unless you'd like to further practice your dazzling feats of agility and acrobatics," the man responded, eyes glittering with wry amusement. "Although I'm uncertain if it should be risked. Just think how devastated the wizarding world would be, sobbing at the words in your obituary, 'The Boy Who Lived Through Many an Attack by the Dark Lord, But Not the One by the Rubbish Bin.' How utterly tragic it would be."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, God. You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"How long do you think you'll live anyway, with iniquitous trash receptacles dogging your steps?"

"Oh, for—look. Enough already. Yes, yes, Harry the Immeasurably Clumsy, I think we've established that already. Very funny. Yes. Ah ha ha ha ha ha. Get over it, already!" He glared as the Potions Master continued to snicker. He sighed. "I want to talk about defense!" he insisted. "I wasn't joking when I said I needed your help, you know."

"I don't know what you expect me to be able to do for you," the man replied. "I've little enough experience against office furnishings of any kind. Oh, very well, Mister Potter. I can't imagine why you're being so incredibly ill tempered about the incident. You're supposed to be so self-effacing, after all." He smirked and stretched his legs out in front of himself and leaning languidly back in the chair.

"Hmph," Harry responded. "I haven't gotten enough sleep, all right? But seriously, Snape, you said you'd help me."

"I said I would discuss it with you. I have decided it would be unwise. Discussion terminated. And don't you dare call me 'Snape' in that familiar tone, you wretched, impudent whelp." He glared at Harry, but it lacked a certain gravity considering preceding events.

"I could have called you any number of worse things," Harry responded dryly. "And why won't you discuss it? Because you'll enjoy watching me die?" he challenged, eyes hard and penetrating.

Snape didn't look at him. "If you didn't get yourself into such ridiculous circumstances, the issue would not arise," he responded evasively.

"Oh, I like that!" Harry replied heatedly. "You know perfectly well that he's out to get me, I don't go after him! Well, yes, that last time, but I never meant to, and I'm extremely sorry about what I did, and you don't have to keep on rubbing it in!" To his horror, Harry found his voice growing hoarse, and wobbling just a little. He couldn't actually start to _cry_, could he? Here, and now, in front of Snape? He looked away quickly, biting his lip. "And it's not as though hiding is going to guarantee any sort of safety. He's still going to come after me, you know."

"Undoubtedly," Snape replied quietly. He was silent a long time, and Harry wondered what he was thinking. With a huge sigh, the man said, "I can go back to teaching you Occlumency, I suppose, but that's really it. And I don't see why I should unless you actually expend a little effort this time. I don't see why I should waste my life trying to save yours."

Harry nodded, grateful that Snape hadn't kept the discussion going in the direction it had been. That was unusually tactful of him. "I will make an effort," he promised quietly. "I absolutely will. But I want to learn more than just that. There has to be _something_ more you could teach me. Why can't you teach me all the Defense Against the Dark Arts stuff you would have if you'd gotten the job?" Harry bit his lip, knowing it was a tactless thing to say.

"Albus obviously does not want me teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts, and so I shall not teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts," Snape replied in a low, resentful voice. "And you ought to be grateful I've even offered the Occlumency, considering the hell you got up to during the last session."

"Erm. Dumbledore doesn't want you teaching it? Why? And—and I am grateful, really, about the Occlumency. It's fantastic of you to offer that." Snape gave him a disgusted look. "But I'm sure that if you asked Dumbledore—"

"Don't be obtuse, Potter!" Snape snapped at him. "How many times do you think I've applied for the Defense position? Do you think Dumbledore would have turned me down without reason?"

"What…reason did he give?" Harry inquired timidly.

"He didn't," Snape replied shortly. "He doesn't really need to, does he." It was not a question. "He, of course, must _have_ a reason, despite the fact that I, myself, am not privy to it. You don't doubt our illustrious leader, do you Potter?" He smirked when Harry shook his head. "I thought not. So you'll just have to trust him, won't you, when he refuses to let me teach the Dark Arts class."

Harry squirmed in his seat for a moment, earning him a scowl from the Potions Master. "But…he didn't specifically say that you couldn't teach _me_, did he? I mean, he just didn't give you the Defense position so…"

"So? I fail to see the distinction," Severus replied, huffing and blowing a few lanky strands of hair out of his face. His voice dripped with scorn, and Harry was quite sure that if it hadn't been so mellifluous, as well, it could have withered plants.

"So maybe he's just worried about you teaching people like Neville Longbottom," Harry said hurriedly. "Because you scare him stupid, and then he can't learn anything from you. And it would be really bad if he never learned any Defense Against the Dark Arts at all, because that could be really dangerous. And you'd be having to teach Malfoy and the others, and they _would_ learn something, and probably demand to know more, and how could you refuse them, knowing they'd tell their parents about it? Come on, Sna—I mean, Sir. Please at least consider teaching me. I promise I'll work as hard as I can, harder even than I would in my real classes, and you'd be totally in charge of the curriculum, so you wouldn't have to worry about me learning something dangerous. Please? There must be _something_ you think I ought to know."

Snape's eyebrows rose up high at that, and he turned to face the boy, who was giving him a look that could, nauseatingly, be described as puppy dog eyes. He shut his mouth with a grimace. "Do you honestly think you would survive subjecting yourself to my tutelage for the rest of the year, actually making an attempt to follow the instructions given you and obeying my injunctions to the letter, no matter how unpleasant, no matter how demeaning? Do you think you could, in fact, show me the respect I deserve and make an attempt to be less than thoroughly irritating? Would you keep your temper firmly in check, whatever abuse I choose to rain down upon your tender ears? Will you take it seriously? Give up control to me; trust, to me? Hmm? Do you think you are, in fact, capable of any of that?" Snape turned, smirking, to Harry.

"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir," Harry responded immediately with as much conviction as he could muster. Part of him wanted to know just exactly how much abuse was being suggested, but he refrained from asking. Knowing wouldn't make it any better, and besides, the whole point of saying, 'I'd do anything you said to do,' meant giving up the right to chafe when told to do something you didn't like. Which didn't mean you had to like it. Snape sniffed and gave Harry a skeptical look. "I really will, sir, honest. And I don't mind; I trust you."

Snape seemed to freeze up at that, for a moment. "That's because you're sickeningly naïve, Potter," the man told him in a strange voice. He stared at the blackboard for a long time, avoiding Harry's gaze. Finally he gave Harry a long, inscrutable sideways look. Harry met the man's eyes, willing himself not to back down. He wondered what Snape saw there—the truth? Harry's willingness? Stubbornness? Desperation? Eagerness? That strange, fluttery hope that had awakened in his stomach? Harry's inexplicable yearning to spend time in the man's company? Harry felt any number of images that suited the emotions swirling around in his head, and contemplated each one for a time before suddenly realizing: _Oh, hell! The man can do Legilimency! He's in my head!_ Harry lashed out, wand in hand before he even realized what he was doing. Suddenly, the classroom swam back into focus and he saw Snape, shaking his head, clearing away the last wisps of the Bumbuzling Charm Harry had hit him with. "Sloppy, Potter, very sloppy. You only actually noticed after I'd been in your mind for about five minutes." Harry didn't say anything, fist clenched tight around his wand. "Oh, very well," Snape finally said, "You seem sincere enough in your desire to do this. But I'm warning you, Potter, you had better not expect to go through this with your usual breezy, slipshod style. If you're going to learn from _me_, than you had better be prepared to labor at it. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied quietly, still angry from the assault on his mind. "But there's one other thing I also want from you." His voice was so intense that Severus could not help but look at him, raising his eyebrows just a little.

"And just what is that, Mister Potter? Are we already making demands? I'm not going to bother with this charade of an arrangement if you are already finding ways to circumvent the parameters I put forth. Perhaps I ought to give up this absurd notion right now."

"I'm not making any demands," Harry insisted. "I'm only asking for something. You can say no if you want. I certainly couldn't force you to say yes. I just thought that if you felt something was safe for me to learn, it might be safe for others."

"Ah. It all becomes clear now. You want to use what I tell you in your silly little D.A. meetings I've heard so much about. Running out of lessons for the needy brats?" He sneered cynically at Harry.

"No, not that," Harry responded, feeling aggravated. "I don't need to teach anybody anything; I want you to teach them. And I don't need you to teach the whole school. Just Ron and Hermione." He held a hand up at Snape's inarticulate growl. "No, hear me out. They get into almost as much trouble as I do, and they're my best friends, so they're extremely likely to be around if he shows up, wanting me dead. Plus, it's my fault they got detention at all; I was the one who wanted to talk to you so badly I was willing to go to extremes and get you completely enraged over it. Please. Just think about it. I don't want anyone else to die because of me." Harry looked so sad and tired at this, even Snape couldn't bring himself to say anything that could make it worse.

"Oh, very well," Snape repeated acerbically. "Though, dear God, even having one of you around is a hellish punishment. I can't even imagine how bad it could be with all three of you." He pinched the bridge of his nose, and Harry hid a grin.

"That Bumbuzling Charm, that worked pretty well, didn't it?" he said, hoping to leave the subject while the man was still agreeable. "Could we try that again?"

Severus let a hiss of air out through his teeth. "I already regret agreeing to this," he muttered balefully. Standing quickly, he turned to Harry. "Well? You were the one who wanted to do this! Stand up. Wand out." He was glaring just as blackly as he'd ever done when he shouted, "_Legilimens!_"

Harry felt a dozen memories crowd toward the front of his brain, and he heard himself yelp something. Snape's mind retreated. Harry shook his head, muzzily, as Snape continued to gaze coolly at him. "Only a minor curse this time? The Dark Lord would have eaten you for breakfast," he told him scornfully. "Ready yourself again. Legilimens!" he cried out again, and Harry suddenly saw himself with Snape, in the same room as they were right now. It was what had happened just last night, wasn't it? Dimly, he saw the events of the evening, saw himself laugh, and the professor's strange expression again. "Expelliarmus!" he heard himself shout out, and the occurrences of the previous day receded. When his head was finally clear again, he found Snape looking at him with an enigmatic expression.

"Too slow, Potter. Far too slow. Try it again."

So they practiced, again and again, and Harry was sure he was only getting clumsier as the night wore on and he became even groggier. And Snape was still in such a tetchy mood! Harry still didn't understand why he'd started off so cold, then allowed himself that odd bit of laughing, then went back to being such a miserable, stroppy sod again! It was hot and cold with him tonight. And mostly cold. Why they hell was that? Harry just couldn't seem to get a handle on the man.

Finally, Snape delved into his mind, seeing Harry's memory of Snape just after he'd been mauled by Fluffy, and whatever spell Harry managed knocked them both back a couple of feet. Professor Snape, of course, recovered almost immediately, but Harry tripped over his robes and sat down hard. Wincing (he'd already landed there once tonight; people were going to think Snape was spanking him or something), Harry gave Snape a petulant look.

Snape heaved a great sigh, looking irritated. "Fine, Mister Potter. If you do not have the stamina or fortitude to continue this any longer tonight, I will expect you at the same time tomorrow. You may tell Miss Granger and Mister Weasley to accompany you. I'm sure we'll all enjoy ourselves immensely." He looked sick at the very thought. Harry made his way to the door, grateful to be headed, at long last, to bed. He was just dragging himself away from the class when Snape's frosty, taunting voice floated out to him. "And Mister Potter? Next time, if you insist on wearing your boyfriend's clothes, at least attempt to hem them up. That is, if you don't wish to break your neck."

Harry knew he was brick red once again. He'd been getting giggles and looks and innuendo from people in every house, all day long, and it had all been extremely irksome, but…Harry tried to ignore that it was somehow much worse when it was Snape thinking that Dean Thomas was his boyfriend.


	8. There's Nothing Wrong With Fear

Chapter 9: There's Nothing Wrong With Fear (As an Aphrodisiac)

Harry slept so soundly that night he was surprised he ever woke up at all. Unfortunately, he also woke up later than he should have, and was forced to hurry to make it down to the Great Hall in time for breakfast. This time, at least, he was careful to put on his own robes.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Seamus asked him. "Too much of a pouf to be brave enough to come right out and admit you're a pouf, then?" Harry just made a face, and Seamus laughed.

At breakfast, he suddenly remembered what he'd gotten Snape to agree to, and got Ron and Hermione alone at the first opportunity. "You know how I said I'd make it up to you?" he questioned Ron. "Well, I got Snape to agree to teach me what he knows about Defense Against the Dark Arts, and after some whining and pleading, I got him to cut you in on the deal, too. So you can come with me tonight, and no more detentions with Filch."

Ron did not look appreciative of Harry's achievement. "Bloody _hell_, Harry! That's more of a punishment than before! How does that make anything up to us?" He was squawking and bug-eyed, and Harry had to grab hold of his arm and shake it in order to get him to calm down.

"Don't do that!" he told him in an urgent undertone. "Snape's looking at us right now! We have to convince him that we're mature enough to handle this, or it'll go right back to detention the regular way. Don't you get it?" Harry pleaded. Finally he gave up and led them out into the corridor, which was fairly empty. He looked from one of them to the other. Even Hermione was eyeing him with some trepidation. They were acting as though Harry'd signed them up for 'Sticking One's Head in a Dragon's Mouth 101' or 'Fire Eating for Fun and Profit.' "Please, you guys! We can't count on being able to teach ourselves everything we might need to know."

"That's true," Hermione acknowledged, getting that bibliophilic glint in her eye. "In fact, we don't even know what it is we don't know, or how to go about finding that out. We don't know what we might need to know, or even how to know if we know it…we don't know—"

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry interrupted, torn between gratitude and exasperation. "I knew I'd be able to count on you. Look, Ron," Harry turned to his first ever close friend, willing him to understand. "I've gotten you guys hurt before. You've been injured because of me. Other people have _died_ because of me. I couldn't—I just couldn't live with myself if that happened to one of you." He broke off thickly, turning away. To his surprise, Ron grabbed a hold of his shoulder and jerked him back, so they were facing once again.

"_Don't you dare_," Ron admonished him, a fierce look in his blue eyes. "Damn it, Harry, it wasn't your fault. You were there, true. You made decisions, yeah. Everyone does. You just made the best choices you could with the options you had at the time. You did your best, mate." He gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze. "I think most anyone would have done the same." He started to look unnerved as Harry's eyes swam with ever greater amounts of liquid. "Now, don't," he advised, looking disconcerted. His eyes darted to Hermione, beseeching her to help. "That's just—don't do that. Worst thing you could do."

"Oh, Ron, don't be such a complete twit," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "That's just exactly what Harry needs right now. Come here, Harry," she said in such a commanding tone that he wasn't very surprised to find himself with his head buried in her hair and on her shoulder, sobbing almost silently. "There, there," she murmured, giving Ron a short glare. "Let it all out."

"Oh, for pity's sake," Ron muttered. "You're spoiling him, you know that, don't you? If we end up with a limp-wristed fairy, it'll be all your fault! What he needs is some fresh air. And some wizarding girly mags. Fred and George have some, no doubt. I'll owl them."

Harry felt himself start to snigger at this, and turned loose of Hermione to quickly wipe his face with his sleeve. "Thanks," he told them both in a low voice. He looked embarrassed, and Ron did, too, but he found that they'd simply been friends for too long to feel terribly awkward. "So you'll come, then?" He tried not to look too imploring, but knew that it was what they saw on his face.

"Of course we'll come, Harry." He'd expected such a strong response from Hermione, who was, after all, naturally much better at dealing with emotions. He was startled to realize that it was, instead, Ron who had spoken them so firmly. He managed a wobbly grin, and Ron shook his head, lips turned in an exaggerated frown. "And DON'T say you owe us. I really don't like the way you go about paying off your debts." Harry managed a bit of a chuckle, thanking the fates (for once) for letting him off so easy. He supposed he shouldn't really be surprised; Ron was a great friend. Their friendship had survived through fights and fears and fame, and trolls and tasks and terror. Now, they might well face the ultimate test. Now they would see if it could endure Severus Snape.

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The trio entered the Transfiguration classroom that night quite meekly, each feeling like a bundle of nerves. Harry had begged Ron before hand not to make a pig's ear out of it; just to give Snape a chance, and Ron had agreed, but with great reluctance. Hermione, Harry felt, was a trooper as always, but of course they were doing this in the name of knowledge, and that made all the difference.

They found Snape standing at the front of the class, face indecipherable and black eyes glinting. He pointed silently to three desks that had been moved to the middle of the room, and they uncertainly took their seats. On each desk was a piece of parchment, filled with Snape's elaborate handwriting down to the very bottom, where an 'X' proclaimed they should place their own signatures. Ron and Hermione exchanged uneasy looks, but Harry skimmed through quickly and decided it made good sense to him; he quickly graced the parchment with his name, ending with a flourish, and then turned to his friends, giving them a persistent look.

"I am about to place a silencing charm on this room, so that we may speak freely," Severus said, drawing his wand. "Are there any objections?" No one responded, so he did as he'd intended and turned to face them. "I suppose you're wondering why I am asking you to sign such a thing?" He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to prevent himself from rolling them. "Yes, Granger?"

Hermione, who'd had her hand raised even before the professor was done with the charm, quickly noted, "Sir, there are several spells on this contract that I recognize. There's the _Consentius Oblivatum_, and a _Fidelus Oath_, or a version of one anyway, and at least two _Tacitonium Persuedi_, and—"

"And your point, Miss Granger?" Snape was watching her closely, tapping a foot. He hadn't once glanced at Harry since the moment they'd entered the room.

"Ah…I'd only wondered. I mean; these are strong spells, and I'd hate to sign a contract that I couldn't get out of…" Hermione was turning slightly red, but she held her ground. "And that's what it appears most of these spells do. Bind you to your word."

Snape stared at her for a while, as if debating. "Of course they do. I could, in fact, lose my job over this unlikely agreement. I would hardly have been prepared to do so without assuring my self, in some small way, that you would not be able to do this specifically for that purpose. Potter, here, agreed to do this without question. If it is something that your beloved golden boy can accept, why should you find it so onerous?"

Harry glowed at this, reveling in the rare and unexpected praise. Snape had said something approving of him. He felt as though he'd been dunked in a vat of warm, honey-flavored liquor. He had to bite his lips to keep from beaming.

Hermione cleared her throat, carefully not meeting Harry's eyes. "Because sometimes Harry thinks with his heart, and not with his head," she rejoined, looking pained. "And because one of these stipulations says that we agree to have our minds wiped of memories at your discretion." She bit her lip, and Ron gasped. Harry was glaring at her. How could she say something like that about him? And in the contract…well…Snape wouldn't have put it in if it wasn't important, would he?

Ron looked angry, but he didn't say anything, and Snape stared at Hermione for some time, as though she was a particularly bizarre new potion that he was trying to memorize. Harry stared at him, and he realized the man's hands were shaking almost imperceptibly. Was he nervous? No, Severus Snape was never nervous. Had he been taking some potion with less than desirable side effects? That certainly sounded more Snape's thing. He watched curiously as he waited for Snape's verdict. "…well spotted, Miss Granger. Five points for Gryffindor." He turned and walked up to the blackboard, where he wrote the words _Occlumency, Legilimency,_ and _Consentius Oblivatum_. Harry reeled. Snape just gave points to Gryffindor! Snape just gave points to _Hermione_! This was…awful? Why would it be awful? Because Hermione was getting attention, and Harry wasn't? If Harry wanted that kind of attention, he'd just have to work for it. He had no right to be jealous of Hermione, one of his best friends, simply for doing what she always did. He ought to be supportive. Then why did he feel like reaching over and giving her bushy hair a vicious yank, and asking her what she meant by it? Harry firmly stamped the urge out, and forced himself to pay attention to Snape.

"These words are all related. I've no doubt Miss Granger has figured it out by now, and Potter certainly ought to know due to his experience—though I highly doubt he does. Weasley? What do these words mean, and how do they relate to one another?"

Ron, put on the spot, blinked a couple of times. "Er. Well. Ah, Harry, he took Occlumency with you because of the dreams he was having. Because, er, Dumbledore thought that You-Know-Who, was like, getting into Harry's head. That was supposed to stop him from getting in. And Legilimency, that's like, what you use when you want to get in to somebody's head. So I'm guessing that last one—Consentius Oblivatum, it says here? I'm guessing it has to do with getting in someone's head, or keeping someone out of someone's head or something. Something to do with heads, anyway."

Snape licked his lips a few times. "Ahem. Well, aside from the most appalling mispronunciation of Consentius Oblivatum I've ever heard, that was a…logical train of thought. A small thought, to be sure, and one that falls far short of what I will be expecting from you if we do, indeed, decide to continue with these…distasteful gatherings, but a thought nonetheless, and therefore, I suppose, more than I would have expected from you. Potter, can you continue with Mister Weasley's train of thought until it actually arrives at the station?" He gave Harry an arch look, as though he knew Harry would not be able to arrive at any worthwhile conclusion.

Harry broke out into a sweat. His first real test. The first time he might have a chance at proving to Snape that he was not a total prat. It didn't help that Hermione could barely sit still, she was so eager to give them all the answer. "Um," he said, forcing the word past his suddenly dry mouth. "Well, when you use the spell Obliviate, it erases the memory. So I'd have to guess, seeing how the root word seems to be the same, that Consentius Oblivatum has to do with erasing the memory. Er. Like Hermione said."

"And the Consentius, Mister Potter?" Snape probed, giving no clue as to whether Harry was correct.

"I'm…not sure," Harry replied, cautiously.

"Take a guess." Snape's eyes were glittering madly, and Harry was a little thrown. He looked like a seeker who had just spotted the Snitch, but didn't want to make any sudden moves toward it because it would draw the opposing seeker's attention.

"It sounds like consent, so, er. I suppose it could mean that it was kind of a…consensual memory-wipe?" He bit his lip, clear eyes piercing the teacher with their tentative hopefulness.

Snape looked quickly away. "And what could agreeing to have your minds wiped possibly have to do with your studies of Occlumency and being subjected to Legilimency? Hmm?"

"Well, Voldemort can get into my mind, sometimes, and there might be things that we don't want him to know. If a memory was…really dangerous, like maybe it showed someplace we didn't want him to know about, or something like that, then maybe it would be better if I just couldn't remember it, so he couldn't get access to it that way."

Snape nodded curtly. "Voldemort is, in fact, highly adept at Legilimency. I do not know that any of you will ever meet him…again. But if that unhappy circumstance should arise, I would you all be prepared. And I am not partial to the concept of you doing so with certain…liabilities floating unchecked in your minds."

"You're worried we'll give away your role as a spy," Hermione noted solemnly. Harry felt something clench inside, and something tugged at his mind. Not his memory, exactly, but as though a thought had surfaced briefly, but before he could scrutinize it and discern what it meant, it slid down beneath the waters of his consciousness once more.

"We. You. This could put you in a lot of danger," Harry realized, thinking, _This could be why Dumbledore doesn't want him in the Defense position. How could he teach the class everything without Voldemort finding out? Even being in the same room with us will put him in danger later. Because of his memories, and our memories…_ Out loud, Harry said, "I don't think we should do this. I mean it. I think. I think I made a mistake. I think this was a bad idea." His stomach felt like it was trying to twist itself around his other vital organs, or maybe come up through his throat and escape. He clamped his mouth shut, feeling nauseous.

"Well, it would certainly not be your first, would it?" Snape replied, one eyebrow raised in the expression Harry knew so well.

What would it be like, if Voldemort discovered Snape had been helping them and killed him? If Snape left for a Death Eater gathering, and never returned? What would it be like, knowing he was never coming back? What would it be like, knowing he would never see that eyebrow raised like that again? Suddenly, the whole room spun, and Harry found he couldn't breathe. His stomach was worse, and he turned sideways in his chair and doubled over. His heart was pounding rapidly, and he slipped from his chair.

"Harry? Harry, what's wrong?" he could dimly hear Ron's and Hermione's voices against the fore noise of his own deafening heartbeat. He could hardly feel the floor under his body; it all seemed so insubstantial, like he was disconnected from his own body, and couldn't quite get back in. Was he dying? This was what he imagined it would be like to die. He could still hear his friends' agitated dialogue, and suddenly there was Snape's resonant, mellow voice rising above the others, and he relaxed fractionally. _Not dead, yet. He's still here. He's still alive. You haven't gotten him killed._

"I think he's having a fit!" Hermione was saying, frantically chafing Harry's wrists. "Just look how pale he is."

"It might be an attack by Vol—Him!" Ron gasped, looking anxiously at the professor. "We were just talking about him! He could've heard and now he's in Harry's head! He's making Harry sick!"

"Compose yourselves," Snape said, tamping down their rising alarm. "He's only panicking. There is nothing physically wrong with the boy; his mind is simply insisting otherwise, and has convinced his body to believe the lie." He put a hand behind Harry's neck, helping him to a sitting position. "Head between your knees," he instructed brusquely. "Listen to me, Harry. Concentrate on my voice. Do as I say. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. And out." He was speaking quietly; not quite soothingly—this was Snape, after all—but the effect was the same. Harry tried to adjust the time it took for the air to come into and be forced from his lungs. Soberly, he did his best to match the tempo Snape's voice gave. His heart was still pounding painfully, and he feared he might be having a heart attack. "Harry," Snape said sharply. He took the youth's chin and forced his head up, so that he was looking down into emerald eyes that were wide with terror. "You have control over this," he told the boy with soft conviction. "Breathe in. Breathe out."

Hermione was rubbing circles on his back, and Ron was clutching at his right arm. Snape's fingers were warm against his chin. This was good. He could see them. He could feel them. He hadn't managed to leave his body, after all. Gradually, his heart slowed, and he could feel his breathing returning to normal. He closed his eyes and swallowed a couple of times, relishing the sensations of the hard floor beneath his hands, and the repetitive circular motion Hermione's palm made against his back. He could still feel Ron gripping his arm, so tightly that it hurt, and Snape's hand, no longer wresting his jaw upwards, but simply maintaining the contact, almost cupping Harry's chin. He opened his eyes slowly, looking up at the professor. Harry swallowed again, feeling his heart skip a beat, and then begin to speed back up. If Harry tilted his head only a little, and leaned forward, their lips would meet. He felt the inexorable heat rising up his neck again.

Swiftly, the professor stood and stepped back. The man didn't say anything, and his features were as hard and impassive as always. Except for the touch of his hand, there had been nothing gentle about his demeanor; in fact, he looked almost angry that Harry had dared to become so unwell. There was a line between his brows, and his eyes were turbulent. "Perhaps you were right, after all, Mister Potter. Maintaining this endeavor would be most unwise."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, throwing them all off a little. "I mean; no. Not because of that. If you don't want to do it, it had better be because you're worried about your own safety, not whether I'm too delicate to handle it. All right?" He lifted his eyebrows, giving the man a challenging look. Ron put a hand under Harry's arm and helped him to his feet. Snape pointed to the seats again, and they resumed their earlier positions. "I want to do this," Harry told them quietly. "But I'm not willing to pay Snape's life as the price."

Snape sighed. "Mister Potter, I long ago resigned myself to the fact that I would not likely live to see Voldemort's final defeat. I am a spy. It is a profession that holds certain…hazards to one's health. That being said, I am no glory-hound, no foolish brave champion. I should like to continue to exist, for as least as long as possible. I do not take needless risks. This is why I came up with the solution of the three of you binding yourselves to the contract. I felt it was necessary." He looked steadily at Harry, and said, "It is also possible they could get to you through me. I felt the precautions I'd taken were adequate, but now I feel…that I ought to admit that it is not my risk to take." His words were somehow placid, but the man's voice was harsh.

"I'm in it over my head, anyway," Harry said bitterly. "I'm clutching at you because you've managed to keep from drowning, and you've been in it longer than I have. To me, you're a life preserver, not a weight. Not a risk."

"Yeah, but…" Ron interjected. "That's a strong contract. It gives him an awful lot of power."

"Even I'm not honestly comfortable with it," Hermione added. She turned to Professor Snape, offering a suggestion. "Can't we…just tweak it a little bit? Change it so there are…reasonable limitations as to when you could exert your right to wipe our memories? We could say, 'only if you think there is serious danger of physical harm, or only if you know of some immediate circumstance that would absolutely require our memories to be wiped."

The man looked as though he wasn't at all pleased, though he might consider this, but Harry interceded. "No," He said with conviction. "No, we can't put limits on it that way. We have to trust him. We can't say, do it 'only' if this happens, or 'only' if you know that, or 'only' if such and such comes up. We have to trust him."

"But _why_, Harry?" Ron murmured insistently. "He's _Snape_. Don't you remember? Why should we trust him? He hates us!"

"Because we have to," Harry responded shortly. "Because he's an adult and he—he sees farther than we do. He has, what did Lupin once call it? Perspective. He has loads and loads of perspective. And that means he'll see angles we don't always notice. And because he's been a Death Eater, and a spy, and a member of the Order, which is almost like being an Auror. To do all that and still be alive, he's got to have good instincts. He has to be able to act on those instincts. And he's Snape. You can't expect him to explain himself to us beforehand. That's just the way he is. I think it's the right thing to do."

Ron heaved a great sigh and turned to Hermione. "Well, it's your call," he said. "Harry's developed into a ruddy lunatic and Snape's a certified soulless fiend, but I reckon you're still a dominant shareholder in the 'common sense' factory. You talk some reason into them."

Hermione looked very staid as she replied, "I think we ought to do it, for Harry's sake, if not our own."

"What?" Ron cried, gobsmacked. "For the love of—How can you—You just! You did it again! Just like blowing up the lab! You were _supposed to talk him out of it_. You need—do I have to explain your role to you again?" He threw his hands in the air. "Fine! Fine, you're all nutters, but that's just dandy. I'll just go along with you to see if I can minimize the damage you do yourselves. Where's the quill?"

Snape handed it to him, looking menacing as he did so. "Your quill, Mister Weasley. Might I add that the next one of you juvenile ingrates who refers to me by cognomen will suffer unspeakable woe as well as horrendous physical pain? Do not consider leaving off my honorific again," he squeezed the words out through clenched teeth. "If you do not call me Professor, you _will_ call me _Master_."

The man drew himself up to his full height, glaring down at them with dark, imposing stature. Folding his arms formidably across his chest, he sent them a searing look through his dark curtain of hair. Harry thought that even if he were Voldemort, there would still be NO WAY IN HELL he would cross Snape right now. The man absolutely radiated power, as if he'd harnessed lightning, or a tsunami, or pure volcanic power and was simply waiting to unleash it on the next unfortunate bastard who happened to hack him off. It made Harry feel inarticulate, sweaty palmed and somewhat weak-kneed. And, of course, it was all down to terror, really. Pure, undiluted fear; the kind that made you shiver and cringe and flush and really, really make an idiot out of yourself. Fear. Yeah, that.

Still malcontent, Ron and Hermione slowly put quills to parchment, scratching down their names. As soon as they were finished, all three contracts burst into blue flames and crumbled quickly into ash. They stared at the sad little heaps of soot that had once been their free will.

"Um…Professor?" Hermione queried tremulously. "What would you have done if we hadn't agreed to sign the papers? If we hadn't agreed to have our memories wiped? I mean, since we would have known this much, at least, and could have given it away…"

She stopped speaking under Snape's furious expression. "What do you think, you thickheaded little girl? I would have wiped your minds forcibly, then sent you back to your rooms lacking the memory of tonight's events. And you'd never even have recollected enough to wonder why."

"That's! That's…dastardly!" yelled Ron, his face the same shade as his hair.

"But practical," Hermione sighed shrewdly.

"And…he thought about it beforehand," Harry pointed out. "At least he _had_ a plan. We usually don't. We need this kind of foresight."

"What?!" Ron cried incredulously. "After that, the two of you are just…I can't—You. I. Aughhhhh!" he finally roared, tearing at his hair.

"Well. That's just what I would have expected from you, Weasley," Snape sneered. "An inarticulate scream. You must simply excel at cocktail party conversations."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, looking at Ron warily. "But you have to admit, for an inarticulate scream, that was pretty expressive. I mean; it got his point across and all." Ron's mouth was working vigorously, but nothing was coming out, and Hermione gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"Don't worry. We've done all sorts of idiot things. We always come out more or less all right. I'm sure after we've all calmed down, it will be just fine." Ron's mouth stopped moving, but he looked more morose than comforted.

"Right. Now, if we've got all the childish drama finished, I'd like to lay some ground rules," Snape snapped at them whirling and striding quickly to the blackboard.

"Rules?" Ron managed to gulp. "Signing over are souls wasn't enough? You want ground rules, too? This is just getting better and better." He rubbed his forehead forlornly.

"Watch your tone of voice, Mister Weasley," the professor growled at him. Taking his wand, he began to jot a number of things on the blackboard. "Number one; since you will be ostensibly 'detentioning' with me, there need to be an assortment of actions taken which further the deception."

"We could bitch a lot about you behind your back," Ron offered dryly.

Snape stopped writing for a moment, and the three tensed up, awaiting an expressive barrage of reproach. Snape however, merely shrugged and said, "As you like it. So long as you are very cautious about relating any specific complaint, I'd have to acknowledge that it would be prudent. Certainly, no one would expect you to look forward to or derive pleasure from my company." He ignored Ron's vehement, 'No worries, then,' and continued to scribble. "People will suppose you are serving detention, and that some kind of work will be required of you. Therefore, you each shall perform some menial task on a nightly basis; to whit, you will use your wands to each cover one wall of this classroom with lines that I predetermine and give to you at the beginning of each night. These lines will be left for the following morning, and, no doubt, be observed by Professor McGonagall's early classes."

"But—the whole wall?" Ron gasped. "That would take, like, hours! It'd end up being thousands of lines a piece!"

"And, ah, wouldn't that leave us without time to do any learning?" Hermione added timidly.

"You _are_ actually supposed to be punished." Snape did the thing with the eyebrow again. "You do remember why we're all here, and not in my own classroom, don't you? You will each start by doing one hundred lines each, and then I will allow you to magically multiply them.

"Now, number two, whatever happens in this classroom as to your magical edification shall stay within the walls of this classroom unless I have specifically deemed otherwise. If I teach you an enchantment that is either innocuous enough, or easily found out, I may perhaps permit Potter to teach it to his little band of vagabond simpletons that envisage themselves an army.

"Number three, do not DARE forget my honorific again. You will call me Professor Snape, Sir or Master. You will treat me with respect. You will not speak out of turn. You will apply yourselves to the lessons given you with serious mien. You will not badger me for answers with which I choose not to supply you. If I do not inform you of something, it will be for a reason. You will arrive on time every time and be prepared. You will not discuss topics which are outside the scope of the lesson. You will be tested, and the tests will be _rigorous_. If you do not succeed at your first attempt at the test, you will perform it again. And again. And again, however many times it is necessary for you to meet my standards. I am not hopeful that you will manage any without multiple tries. Some of the tests will be written, and some will be practical. You will be expected to perform equally well at both. You will not cheat on the tests or during the lessons. If this means I have to bind and gag Miss Granger and instill in her notes password charms, I shall. The two of you mindless boobs are going to have achieved something on your own for once.

"Number…where was I? Number…twelve, I believe. You will learn to appreciate the arts and talents of your opposing house, namely by adopting their better traits. Potter, here, has always been a pathological liar; it shouldn't be too difficult for him to get in touch with his Slytherin side. You will learn cunning, artifice, discretion, forethought, chicanery, and if we are lucky, circumspection. You will unlearn your obstructive Gryffindor habits, including, but not limited to idiocy, imprudence, overconfidence, haste, incivility—"

"I like that, I don't think!" Hermione gasped, sounding affronted.

"I was TALKING up here, Granger! As I was saying, incivility, idealism, your petulance, over-sensitivity, and your deplorable obstinacy, even if I have to beat them out of you with a broomstick. Ahem. Yes. And last, but certainly never least, and you had better be paying close attention to this, you are going to keep everything about this our secret, Fidelus Charms or no. You will not, under any circumstances, do ANYTHING that could give my colleagues the indication that I am giving my evenings to coddling and spoon-feeding wisdom to the three most encumbrancing holy terrors in existence. In other words, the ORDER DOES NOT KNOW, NOR WILL THEY FIND OUT. Is that perfectly clear?"

Wordlessly, they nodded. "Good. Then get out. I need to prepare the first lesson. And even breathing the same air as the three of you has given me a migraine." He turned swiftly back to the board, erasing all points with one sweep of his hand. "Quills, ink and parchment tomorrow, class. It will be a documentation-filled evening."

They scurried to the door, and through it, before stopping and looking at each other. Hermione opened her mouth, but then thought better of it, and they were almost to Gryffindor Tower before they finally felt there was enough distance between themselves and their rancorous new tutor to speak safely.

"That was positively excruciating!" Ron burst out. "I've changed my mind. I'm not going back there! You can't make me!" Hermione leaned over and whispered something briefly to him, and he glared. "You wouldn't!" Hermione raised a brow, à la Snape. "You would! Why you—you," he spluttered into silence. Harry gazed on, bewildered.

Hermione gave him a quelling look, so he simply shrugged and said, "I don't think it will be so bad. Really. I think he was just snappish tonight because it was his first time teaching it, and he was nervous." He ignored the way Ron's eyes appeared as though they were about to pop out of his head. "We'll learn a lot, and I honestly think it could be the difference between making it through this and not making it through this. I think he'll be a big help."

"Harry!" Ron squawked, "He's an evil git!"

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't go into a dark alley with him, but that's neither here nor there. And I think it'll go more smoothly as we get used to each other, and he doesn't have to put the 'Scary Death Eater' act on anymore. We might even have…like…an all right time. "It could be fun with Snape." He became aware that both Ron and Hermione were staring at him dubiously following this remark. Fun with Snape. It sounded like the most peculiar home arts and crafts show. 'And to brighten up that torture chamber, try placing tea light candles in the mouths of some delightfully arranged skulls! Next, how to insert surreptitious pastels when your palate is mostly blacks, grays, and blood reds. Many human organs are pink, let's start with a few of those…'

"Harry…er…we still, you know, _dislike_ Snape, on the whole, right? I mean…do you, um, kind of like him? All of a sudden?" Hermione was watching him anxiously.

"You don't like him, do you? Why would you like him? How could you?" Ron demanded. "He's utterly evil!"

"Look, you know how I was talking about…perspective earlier? It's sort of about that. Like, mine's suddenly changed over the past couple of days. Before, all I could focus on were the things he said to me, the times he was cruel, goading, all that. But thinking of him being dead…if he hadn't been here. I mean. He was trying to save me when Quirrell wanted to hex me off my broom. He came running out to the Shrieking Shack, when he thought Sirius was a deranged lunatic out to kill me, and that Lupin had been letting him onto the Hogwarts' grounds. He was always following me around, yelling at me about not staying where I was supposed to be, and I was forcing him to go looking for me and trying to keep me from getting killed. No, I don't LIKE him. He's still Snape. But I don't have to like him to maybe sort of appreciate him, in a detached, intellectual way. All right?"

Hermione nodded approvingly. "I think you're being very mature about all this, Harry. I'm glad to have you back. I mean, yourself again…And you're right. I'm sure it will get easier." Harry smiled and gave her a quick hug and thanked her.

"It had better," Ron muttered mutinously. "It had very well better."


	9. Is it Masochism or Just an Earnest Love ...

Chapter Twelve: Is it Masochism or Just an Earnest Love of Learning?  
  
Harry, on the other hand, found the next day that he was very much looking forward to class with Snape. He tried hard not to think about why. This was difficult, as his mind kept wandering from his classes and...back to one of the teachers. Instead of ignoring the subject completely, he rationalized.  
  
Snape was entertaining, in a black-hearted, nay-saying way, and his irascibility could be...endearing. No. Not endearing, as such. Horrible. Yes, that was more the word. Harry carefully did not think about the fact that he was losing his mind. As if giving it deep and thorough consideration was going to improve anything, anyway. Easier to think about...People he knew. And professors. Harry found, thinking it over, that he particularly admired Snape's contrary nature. He so often said not to do or think or be something, and yet totally was that way himself. Or the way he said he'd kill you if you did a certain something, and yet only seemed to notice it half the time. He was getting to be that way a lot more often lately. Harry didn't really imagine the man could be getting forgetful, it didn't fit with the astute character Harry knew. It seemed to him...and it was something he probably wouldn't voice to his friends, because he knew they'd look at him strangely again...that Snape had actually enjoyed himself so much that he let certain things slide. Not always, because that wouldn't do, and he couldn't actually be NICE about it, because he was Snape but... Like the way he'd let them refer to him as 'Snape,' which was, frankly, how they thought of him...for most of the time. He'd heard it, said nothing, and then put on a big display later. And Harry rather liked the big displays, the grandstanding. He might complain about Ron's whinging, but Harry was beginning to suspect that Severus Snape was something of a Drama Queen himself. And, Harry had to admit, he fully relished the performances.  
  
He watched the clock all day, trying not to appear too preoccupied. Then, in the common room, he had to put up with Ron and Hermione giving him funny looks and muttering things to each other behind his back. Well, not behind his back, exactly; they were right there in front of him, but they were obviously talking about him...they were only concerned, of course. Still, he wished they'd stop; he got stared at quite often enough as it was. And then, finally, FINALLY the day was over, and the trio made their silent way to Snape, quills, ink and parchment in hand. For the first time in months, Harry was whole-heartedly looking forward to something.  
  
His face fell when they entered the classroom. Snape had plainly been there at some point, but was not present now. High up in one corner of three of the walls glowing blue words stood out, waiting to be copied. Harry could almost feel Ron tensing up behind him, and Hermione's sigh was audible. Someone evidently thought himself very amusing. One wall read, 'NO ONE EVER SAID LIFE WAS FAIR.' Another proudly proclaimed, 'I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE,' and the third, and in Harry's opinion, most spitefully obnoxious phrase ordaining the stonework was, 'IT'S FOR MY OWN GOOD.' Oh, he just couldn't WAIT to see his classmates tomorrow. This was positively HUMILIATING. He turned to his friends, and they stared at each other, bonded in wordless grievance. Ron's teeth were clenched tightly, and Hermione appeared singularly pained.  
  
Suddenly, a pithy voice broke through their reverie. "Getting to class on time means getting to work on time, ladies. Wands out." They didn't need telling. All three had already spun around, wands drawn, fear written conspicuously across their faces. Snape was standing directly behind them, fingering a silver clasp at his collar, suffused with smugness and satisfaction and wicked amusement. He gave a roguish smirk. "Surprised to see me? It is, after all, my class."  
  
"We just—"Hermione croaked, hand over heart. "How did you do that? We didn't even hear you. One moment the room was empty, and then you—nearly scared us to death!" She was leaning on Ron's arm, and began glowering at the Potions Master.  
  
"Hmph. If I had been any of the other Death Eaters, the three of you would be roasting on a spit right now. That was a genuinely dismal show of defense." He glided back to the desk, looking haughty and aloof. Harry got the impression the man was rather enjoying himself. He stopped in front of the desk and said casually over his shoulder, "You should have seen the looks on your faces." He breathed a small sigh. "A moment I would press in a book and cherish. Weasley, gaping and gawking like a mad halibut, Granger clutching at her heart like a weak old woman, and Potter as pale as milk, eyes as round as galleons. Very droll." There might have been a smile in his voice. He whipped around to face them, and Harry's wand hand jerked up abruptly in reflex. He saw Snape's eyes flick down to the wand before meeting his own, and Harry thought he might wet himself. Well, not really, but his mouth did go very dry. The moisture presumably went SOMEWHERE. To his surprise, Snape gave him a slight nod. "A decent first instinct, Mister Potter, but you lack commitment to your response. You must learn not to repress the reaction."  
  
"Even with you?" Harry challenged. "I could have hurt you, you know. Are you asking me to hex you?"  
  
"Hex away, the next time it happens." Something in Snape's eyes suggested there would be a great many 'next times.' "Harry," he said starkly, "don't be stupid enough to think that I can be felled by anything a person your age can give me. Do it. No matter what the consequences, I would be remiss in my role as an instructor if I did not encourage you to develop the ability to hex the holy living hell out of someone who sneaks up behind you, without even considering the consequences. If it makes you squeamish, limit yourself to the less painful hexes at first. Jelly legs, Impedimentia, whatever. The important thing is that you learn to hex first and think later. We can work our way up to more effective curses from there," he told the boy reasonably.  
  
Harry thought about this for a moment, before nodding and smiling. He stopped when Snape begin mocking him, sneering and jerking his head up and down. "Stop bobbing your head as though you've a spring for a neck, you waste of humanity. Why the hell aren't you doing lines?" he shouted. "Granger, that wall!" he pointed "Weasley, there. Potter, there's only one left, surely even you could not be that witless. Go, go, go. If you aren't well on your way in ten seconds, one of you is going to BLEED."  
  
Harry was disgruntled to realize he had been given 'IT'S FOR MY OWN GOOD.' Hermione was getting to know why life wasn't fair, and Ron, when Harry checked, was growling under his breath about precaution and planning and how only truly heinous criminals needed things like that. Even a just hundred lines doesn't go very quickly, and Harry's wrist was quite stiff and sore by the time it was done. He rubbed at it briefly as he watched the others finish; his line was the shortest, so he was done first. He wondered what, if anything, Snape meant by it.  
  
"Take your seat, Potter," Snape instructed, and Harry realized the man had been watching them discretely from behind the desk. He had been silent for so long, Harry had forgotten he was there. Harry slipped into a seat, looking at the teacher with thoughtful eyes. Since he'd confessed last night that he...could appreciate the man, on an intellectual level, Harry found himself realizing that he'd never before looked at the Potions Master with clarity. He'd always had a veil of hatred and mistrust to complicate things before. Now, he tried to look at the man without judgment. This was difficult; it wasn't as though he could re-meet him for the first time. He thought back on the first time he did meet Snape, and his potions speech. *"... foolish wand-waving here... the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses....I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."* He couldn't really remember the whole thing...although he remembered an awful lot, and what he did remember seemed crystal clear in his memory. If he had really stopped to think about it, Harry felt he might have noticed that Snape seemed remarkably passionate about his subject.  
  
Waiting for Ron and Hermione to catch up, Harry found himself speculating on his first impressions of Snape...  
  
*...Greasy-haired git...Hooked nosed, foul tempered, overbearing... vindictive, eyes flashing menacingly...glaring, cold, smirking...utterly *terrifying*...sallow skin...that voice...always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong...biting sarcasm...hateful, cruel, biased...intimidating, impressive... petty, spiteful, nasty to everyone except his favorites...dark, sinister...frightening...rip your guts out as soon as look at you...but that voice...never listens, always thinks he knows everything...whipping round and robes billowing out behind him...black eyes glittering... overgrown bully...thin mouth, twisted, unpleasant smile...but my, oh, my that *voice*...bitter, sour, rather sad...alone, unpopular...brave, very brave...shrewd and calculating, clever, oh, but he'd have to be, wouldn't he...powerful, masterful...gift of keeping a class silent without effort...brilliant...*  
  
"Potter. Do you have some reason for ogling me like an ill ocelot...or a lovesick squid, or what have you?" Harry felt Ron prodding him in the side with his wand, wanting to know what was going on, and he realized they must be finished. He felt the heat begin to roar in his face. "...You've been peering fixedly at me for no less than ten minutes, always with either a small smile or an outright goofy grin. What is the matter with you?" Snape looked...perplexed? Repulsed? Miffed?  
  
"Nothing," muttered Harry in a small voice, wishing his desk would just turn into a great black vortex of nothingness and swallow him whole. *Excuses, Harry, excuses. Show him Slytherin cunning.* "I was wondering if you started out this way, or if you had to go to insensitivity training to learn it. Did you get awarded 'nastiest of class?' Did your diploma say, 'The Governors of the University of Evildoers have conferred upon Severus Sodding Snape the degree of Bachelor of Backstabbing with all the—'"  
  
"That is enough, Potter."  
  
"Or could you not even get into an actual college? Was it the Vocational School of Evildoers?" Harry couldn't seem to stop. Why the hell did he want, so badly, to provoke the man? Immaterial, he heard Hermione gasp at his daring.  
  
"You're after class, Potter. Detention for acting up in detention, as it were." Snape was looking at him through narrowed eyes, and Harry wondered how close to the edge he'd just danced. Snape was still Snape, after all, and there was no doubt that he loathed Harry. Harry finally subsided with his tirade, breathing heavily. "Take out your quills and parchment," Professor Snape commanded coolly. "Properties of the Blurring Charm, Granger?" He was examining his fingernails, apparently uninterested in whatever Hermione had to say.  
  
"B—Blurring Charms? Ah. They're relatively useless, what with the innovations in—"  
  
"Wrong," Snape countered. "Blurring Charms are especially undervalued today, particularly because of the innovations in Vanishing Potions and Invisibility Spells, both of which have their drawbacks. Invisibility Spells, for instance do not deceive many magical devices. Vanishing Potions have time limits and...on occasion, regrettable side effects. I do hope you're writing this down, because if ever there comes a time when I bring the subject up, and you do not IMMEDIATELY call these things to mind, I'll cut your hearts out with a spoon. It is possible to infuse an ordinary item with a Blurring Charm, rendering it able to activate the spell without effort. Do tell me that ONE of you cretins is capable of conferring the rationale behind using this charm."  
  
Hermione, still stunned from being corrected by a teacher, sat silent. Ron was looking daggers at Snape, apparently, for some reason, taking exception on Hermione's behalf. Snape became still and looked straight at Harry, who stiffened. "Um. Because sometimes you can't make the effort? And...maybe if it's ordinary and the spell's...er...dormant...it would be, you know, less noticeable to other wizards?" he suggested with sudden insight.  
  
Snape gave him a curt nod. "Also because it need not be triggered by a wizard. A muggle, with the right knowledge, could use the item, as could a squib. Write it down," he added roughly, and Harry bent head to paper. "It has disadvantages of its own, of course. For one thing, when the charm is first invoked, it does not activate right away. There is a period of time when the user is still quite visible, albeit...blurred. Hence the name. A demonstration, if you will." He reached up to touch the silver clasp at his throat, and his shape seemed to jump radically. Quite abruptly, the figure of Severus Snape appeared to shift three feet to the left, then the right, then faster, until he was merely an area of darkness distorted by shifting at high speed. And then, unexpectedly, he was gone. "My form is now concealed by an inconspicuous spell that moves my surroundings at great velocity, taking my appearance and blending it with the areas nearest me. I do not expect your vacuous Gryffindor minds are capable of grasping it, but this is what we call subtlety." Clearly Snape must have invoked the spell again at this point, because his shuddering, indistinct outline came oscillating back into sight.  
  
"That was ruddy excellent!" Harry burst out, face flushed. He absolutely couldn't wait to try it. Ron and Hermione were equally enthusiastic with this development.  
  
"Fantastic—"  
  
"Think of what a party trick that'd be—"  
  
"Fred and George would be green!"  
  
"Quiet," Snape's voice cut in, and they tried to swallow their eagerness. "History before Theory, Theory before Essays, Essays before Practice, Practice before Spell. Write that down, because that is the order in which things will almost always occur. The Blurring Charm is one of the first three things I will expect you to become proficient at, because it is ridiculously easy. Occlumency is required, it will be practiced more than any other activity, and it will be practiced throughout the year, no matter how proficient or inept you are at it. The third thing you will be studying has nothing whatever to do with magic, other than the people doing it. You are going to learn to be careful. You are going to learn to be suspicious. Even if you are trapped in a dark room without your wand, surrounded by Death Eaters, you are going to know how to keep your head and look for a way out. This is partly physical training. You will run. You will hide. You will duck terrible curses aimed at your heads. You will..."  
  
Harry grinned as his quill skimmed lightly across his parchment. He would learn. Really learn, and it would be useful. He would get some exercise—really exhilarating exercise. And later tonight, he'd get to talk alone with Snape... 


	10. Green Eyed Monster

***All right, guys; finally another new chapter. I actually spent the weekend drawing pictures of Harry and, more often, Snape, and they turned out really well. I was going for a bit of Alan Rickman to them, but a little more youth, a touch of roguishness...helped me picture who I was writing about. If anyone has any ideas where I could post them, it'd be much appreciated! Anyway, it seems you guys totally missed a sly little reference to a movie I slipped into the last chapter. My roommate suggested it, and I thought I'd get a lot of people pointing it out. Bonus points to whoever points it out! StarryGazer***  
  
Chapter 13: Green Eyed Monster  
  
Snape lectured for more than two hours, and Harry and Hermione were both in heaven, if for completely different reasons. Hermione filled multiple rolls of parchment with her neat, miniscule writing, and her eyes shone with a manic sparkle. For her, this was the only way to learn; accelerated classes, writing and practicing and discussing theory, discovering why spells were the way they were, what they were intended for, and who used them. Harry was learning quickly as well. The practical spell segments were wonderful; and he knew he was better than either Ron or Hermione at them. Being good at one thing didn't necessarily mean being terrible at everything else—although he suspected Snape would have thought his note-taking skills feeble. He thought he was still managing to get everything he needed. Snape was making them turn their notes in at the end of class, and that made Harry kind of nervous. It didn't seem fair to be graded for their shorthand, on top of everything else. Still, he couldn't mind too much, because Snape was talking again, treating them to the luxury of his velvety voice.  
  
The best thing about it all, to Harry, was that the lesson was interesting, truly interesting. He never thought of History of Magic as useful for anything more than slumber, but he found that having a good teacher made all the difference. And Snape WAS a good teacher, once he settled down and started to forget how much he hated all of them. It was obvious that his subjects were fascinating to him, and he had no trouble getting his pupils absorbed in them, as well. Crafty, enthusiastic and mercurial, Snape did not stick rigidly to his own outline, but flew from subject to subject, called on them show whether they could do some spells immediately, without any training, and expounded with relish any topic that came up.  
  
Even Ron was having a better time than he'd expected, though he didn't seem sorry to leave. "I guess he wasn't TOO bad," Harry heard him mutter to Hermione as they were glancing back at him with commiseration, "when he wasn't being, you know, all Snape."  
  
Harry knew what Ron meant, and privately agreed. However well Snape might teach certain things, he was not Professor McGonagall, who was firm but fair, and could even be a bit soft about certain things. Snape was not soft on anything, but could be very, very hard about some things. He did not tolerate stupidity of any kind, and was never gentle when you gave an incorrect answer. He pretty much, Harry felt, chewed up students' egos the way a dragon would crunch up their bones. Sometimes when Snape got that scornful, 'I am about to *incinerate* you' look on his face, Harry felt he'd rather face the dragon, who, after all, at least would not know as many insulting long words.  
  
"Well, Potter, what do you suppose you should do for your extra punishment? There is an extra wall; I suppose more lines couldn't hurt. Though I daresay they hardly helped. It puzzles me that you work to be such a thoroughly monstrous brat for no apparent reason. I fail to see where I was either unreasonable or opprobrious this evening, at least, compared to how I might usually seem. So I cannot understand why you were being so provocative. These classes were entirely your idea, and I fail to see why I should continue them if you are more interested in attempting to deliberately rouse my ire than you are in receiving instruction."  
  
Harry felt distinctly embarrassed. It had only started out with wanting Snape to stop questioning him and trying to change the subject, but it really had degenerated very quickly into seeing whether he could get Snape's goat. Harry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, sir," he said quietly. "You're right; that was pretty childish of me. I'll try not to let it happen again."  
  
"Try?" Snape snorted. "I fail to see the great difficulty in not aggravating me to the point of psychosis. Do you mean to imply that you are somehow *impelled* to infuriate me?"  
  
"No, sir," Harry sighed. He was actually starting to feel guilty about annoying Snape to the point of another detention. He shook his head. *Wait a minute, why are YOU feeling sorry for HIM? You're the one with an extra detention. Not to mention, hey, its just Snape. Who cares what he thinks?*  
  
"It really wouldn't surprise me if you did it out of pure bigheaded malice. You are, after all, very like your father, and in—"  
  
"No, sir!" Harry broke in vehemently, and Snape found himself staring into flashing green eyes. Harry was suddenly right in front of him, fists clenched at his sides, head tilted upward to make them as close to nose to nose as possible. "I'm not! I'm not, really. I wouldn't—"Harry swallowed, trying to work out a phrase that wouldn't just make the man even angrier. "I wouldn't do that to you. That was wrong. It was beastly. I wouldn't do that. I'd never have done that to you." His eyes were pleading, desperately hoping Snape would understand, knowing full well the incident referred to was better left unsaid. "I wouldn't," he insisted gently, and the professor blinked a couple of times, seemingly taken aback by Harry's fervor. His face softened a little, and Harry suddenly felt the urge to blush again, and quashed it firmly. How would anyone ever take him seriously if he went round flushing like a schoolgirl all the time? Instead, he reached up and gently touched the silver clasp at Snape's throat with the tip of his finger. "It's a nifty charm," Harry told him. "Where did you get the clasp?"  
  
"It was...my grandfather's, actually," Snape informed him, his face inscrutable. Harry realized how close they were standing, toe-to-toe, with Snape's back directly against McGonagall's desk. Snape was starting to look distinctly uncomfortable, and Harry dropped his hand and took a step back, feeling self-conscious. "Well," Snape heaved a great sigh, and, making at effort to completely ignore the episode, said, "I suppose we might have another go at somehow hammering Occlumency into your evidently cramped mind. I suspect last night was the first occasion you'd even bothered to make an honest effort, and I must say it was uninspired, at best. Wand out, then."  
  
Harry shook his head again, for some reason having to suppress a smile. Snape wasn't upset with him for almost bringing up a taboo topic. He wasn't upset that Harry had touched him...almost touched him. Plus, Snape was doing it again; being a hypocrite. Why it bothered Snape when Harry was rude, if Harry only found Snape amusing for doing the same thing, Harry couldn't fathom. ...And why on earth was Harry so happy to have an extra hour of detention with Snape, anyway? Maybe it was better not to know. Maybe it was enough just to accept that he was happy, and not question why. Maybe. For now.  
  
The next day, Harry, Ron and Hermione faced endless snickers from the Slytherins for their involuntary graffiti, and the other houses were not averse to putting a dig in where they could. Even Seamus and Dean couldn't resist; they kept passing Hermione in the halls saying, 'How's life, love?" and "Oh, fair. Fair." When Ron told them to shut up, they replied, "Hey, you should've thought about that before," then snickered their way off to their next class. Harry was told so many things were for his own good—from the foot Pansy Parkinson stuck out to trip him in Care of Magical Creatures, to the homework given by McGonagall, to the chocolate cake that was dessert—that Harry thought he might have given himself some kind of eyestrain, he'd rolled them so often.  
  
Snape's class that night was both better and worse than the evening before. When they walked in they were told that two of them would do lines while the other practiced Occlumency, and they would take turns from there. Harry got to go first, and he managed to throw Snape out quickly enough that Snape managed a near compliment—'That was somewhat less than miserably incompetent. If you manage to keep up this show of astounding almost- mediocrity, perhaps I'll be forced to...reward you somehow. Perhaps I could refrain from calling you your father's son for an entire week?' He gave Harry a sneer that was close to a smile.  
  
Harry smiled back. It meant something to him that Snape realized it bothered Harry to be compared like that. And the man must have been in a really good mood to offer a comment like that. Snape really must be enjoying his new position. Harry bit his lip. "Or you could draw a smiley face on my report. No, I guess that would be too much of a payoff for almost-mediocrity. Perhaps you could draw an ambivalent face on my report?"  
  
"Do your lines, Potter," Snape told him in reply, but his eyes and voice both held just a touch of dry amusement, and Harry grinned and turned away before he started blushing again.  
  
Harry was in such a good mood that he even saw the humor in having to write 'I WILL STOP PURPOSELY TRYING TO ENRAGE THE PROFESSOR.' He was doubly pleased because he knew his lines had been tailored to suit; Ron was writing the more conventional 'IT BUILDS CHARACTER,' while Hermione was stuck with the much duller 'PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT.' Harry had to hide a grin; that was Hermione all over. It'd do her good to see what it was like on the receiving side of preachy-ness.  
  
Everything began to go downhill when Snape announced that both Ron and Hermione were far more naturally adept at Occlumency than Harry, and what a relief it was, and how it would go so much more quickly than Snape had supposed when he thought they would both 'mimic Potter's abundant wrong- headedness,' and 'be unable to learn the thing without the aid of blows, bondage or at the very least sugar cubes.' Hermione had had to go sit down to recover from her fit of giggles at this (Snape claimed to have no idea what was wrong with her) while Ron appeared, for the next hour, like he might suddenly have to sick up. Harry wished the night over, and also that his default facial colour could be something other than bright red.  
  
The lessons that evening were difficult, and Harry found himself in competition with Hermione. She knew how to explain things so much better than he did, and her book reading definitely gave her an edge when it came to answering questions, but Harry had sharper instincts, and thought very quickly. It annoyed him that Hermione had to try so hard, though; she had always been the better student, she outdid him in everything else, so why couldn't DADA be just his? He would like it if there were just one thing (outside of Quidditch, which took more speed than intelligence) that he could really shine at. Why couldn't she see that?  
  
Professor Snape noticed their competition, and even seemed entertained by it. He often pitted them against each other, trying to get them to see the flaws in one another's arguments and positions. Harry wondered if they were being encouraged to think harder, or if it was just Snape's nasty small-mindedness. By the end of the class, Harry and Hermione were barely on speaking terms, and Ron was completely baffled by their rivalry. Harry told himself it wasn't Hermione's fault she was smart and wanted people to acknowledge it; and heck, it had gotten them all out of trouble a fair few times. Still, he felt a strange, unpleasant sensation in his stomach whenever Hermione answered a question right, or Snape gave her one of his rare, backhanded compliments. Harry couldn't tell what it was he felt: resentment, anger, jealousy? All he knew was that it lasted until the end of class, when he got back the notes he'd turned in at the end of class yesterday.  
  
There was a—no, not a smiley face, exactly; it had a straight line where the mouth should have curved up. Harry was speechless. There was an ambivalent face at the top of the paper. He chuckled and hid it from the others. He was purposely slow to leave the classroom that night, just so he could be the last to go, and beam at Snape like an idiot before he went. Which was how Snape saw it, too.  
  
The man had his head bent to a paper, and shouldn't have even been able to see Harry, but he still remarked, "Potter, stop giving me that dreadful, drippy, disgustingly happy simper and leave already," without looking up. Harry just laughed, and went to catch up with the others and apologize to Hermione.  
  
"I'm sorry if I was an utter berk back there," he said in a low voice as they headed back to Gryffindor Tower. "I don't know what's up with me, lately."  
  
"Not your fault, mate," Ron replied, as though he were the one Harry was apologizing to. "Having to spend an extra couple of hours a night with Snape is enough to turn anyone a bit funny." Then he made a goofy face and clutched at his head like he was going insane.  
  
"Right," laughed Hermione a little weakly. "And I'm sorry, too. I know how much being good at Defense Against the Dark Arts means to you. I've heard you talk about wanting to be an Auror, and you'd have to have top grades in DADA for that. Though you'd have to raise your Potions grade, and then there's always the other classes—it's one of those professions that requires an 'E' in numerous classes, and you—" Harry looked at Ron and they both rolled their eyes; it was such a Hermione-type of lecture to give. He turned and pretended to be interested in her talk all the way back to the common room. She really could be a bore. Still, he was happy to be back on speaking terms...especially since now there was something he really wanted to talk to her about. 


	11. Beware Witches Who Come Bearing Pamphlet...

***OK, guys, I'm very sorry this took so long, but I had the world's most miserable head cold all week, and I tried to write, but it came out all funny. And not in a good way. More in the, 'What the heck is she talking about? I've lost the thread...what day are we on?' kind of way. I've tried to edit several times since then, but reader beware: not those for the grammatically faint of heart. And there's only passing mentions of Snape, here. More to come, I promise! Please tell me you still love me! StarryGazer***  
  
Chapter 14: Beware Witches Who Come Bearing Pamphlets, For They Are Greater  
and More Terrible Than Jehovah's Witnesses  
  
Harry put off talking with Hermione for a few days, thinking that maybe if he avoided it, everything that had been bothering him lately would just sort of...go away, and he wouldn't have to deal with it. For a little while, this even seemed to work. Harry decided to concentrate on schoolwork— all of it, not just the subjects he liked, play and practice Quidditch like an absolute maniac—to the point where he was completely exhausted at night—and try to think of Snape as someone else. Or of Snape wearing a hat with a stuffed vulture on top. That helped. He resolved not to look Snape in the eyes during classes, not to follow him with his eyes as the man swept magnificently past in his stark black robes, and not to hear the dangerous honey of the man's voice, but concentrate solely on the words being spoken.  
  
The next night, Snape started practical lessons. They were all required to dress in casual-wear, because, as Snape said, 'We cannot trust Mister Potter's ability to tell the difference between his suitors' robes and his own, and in any case it would be best you all dress in more practical clothing.' Of course, when Harry showed up dressed in Dudley's old jeans and a sweater Mrs. Weasley had made for him, Snape told Ron that he was going to have to start laying Harry's clothes out on his bed in the mornings, to be sure he got into the right ones. Ron and Hermione were, at least, dressed casually as well...but Snape had worn black dragon-hide trousers, a high-necked, black silk shirt and a black leather jacket. The black, Harry felt, was unsurprising. It was practically a Slytherin colour on it's own. But the man wore them with a heedless, casual grace that left Harry stunned.  
  
Snape took them out into the forest at night, where he had a roped-off area prepared for their use. It had to be both close to and yet far from the castle, he'd explained, in order that it should be protected from Voldemort, but at the same time could not be seen by Hagrid or the others who might report them. Harry had had to fight down a momentary, heady joy that Snape would go this far, would risk so much wrath on both sides simply for them. Harry'd had to calm himself down, and tell himself that Snape had, in the past, risked far more than a jaunt in the Forbidden Forest would get him. Then Snape had made them go through drills; intense, laborious drills that wore them down and made them wary. He had them aim mild hexes at each other; seek each other out in the darkness and the unpredictable terrain. He followed them and hexed them and came out of nowhere and used Legilimency on them. Some nights it was like a terrifying game of hide and seek—they had them learn to hide, to lurk, to prowl. All the while Snape trailed after them, moving smoothly and silently himself; hunting them down, one by one, and throwing rougher curses at them than he'd let them cast on each other. He caught them and yelled at them and told them what they did wrong, and how to do it better. He could be an absolute slave-master, and Harry enjoyed it, and tried to ignore that squirming happiness in his stomach. And it was only Snape, anyway.  
  
Harry was convinced it was somehow Snape's fault. Certainly Harry never would have had thoughts like he was having, or feelings that kept suddenly looming up in his heart—like icebergs in a foggy sea—about anyone else. Harry was certain. Still, Harry was determined not to notice, so he kept his head straight ahead and eyes focused on the distance whenever Snape passed by. For a little while, it seemed to work. Harry convinced himself that Severus Snape had some kind of diabolical allure, and that, left alone, Harry never would have looked at him that way—would never have thought of any man in that way. He convinced himself it was just a fluke. He could well and truly ignore it. And, for two whole days, life was completely normal—or as normal as it could be, for the Boy Who Lived. Harry spent every school day doing the exact same things his peers were doing, which made him feel ordinary, and almost as though he fit in, and in the evenings, Harry was learning to dodge curses in a way that only a Master Death Eater could teach him. For two whole days, he managed to ignore Snape, and convince himself everything was totally commonplace. Then came the third day, or rather the third evening. Harry and the other Gryffindors had been taking a late Quidditch practice, and the Slytherins, jeering and moaning, had had to give up the field for their use. Harry, having to make Snape's class, had been forced to beg off early, and headed on his own for the locker rooms....  
  
He couldn't say, later, whose voices he heard. He only knew that, because the Slytherins had just given up the field, they were presumably Slytherin, and that they were male. He also noticed that they were exceptionally... eager, in an unmistakably sexual way. This hardly would have surprised Harry; the things you heard about what the Slytherins got up to in their house parties! No, what bothered Harry was that he was...undeniably aroused. He'd actually stood and listened for a few moments, before wandering off, red-faced and confused. The only shower he took that night was a cold one, and he knew that it could never make him feel clean. Harry struggled with the realization that, once again, he was different.  
  
The next day he resolved to speak to Hermione alone. He just couldn't stand it any more, all these questions and fears and desires bottled up so tightly inside of him, and he was certain Ron wouldn't understand. Harry didn't understand himself. But Hermione was smart, and knew instinctively about feelings...  
  
So finally he swallowed his fears and slipped her a note during Transfiguration, asking if they could talk about something alone, without Ron there, and she slipped him a note back, which instructed him to meet him in the common room just after midnight. She'd agreed quickly, but there was a look of worry on Hermione's face. Harry didn't blame her. He wasn't looking forward to it, himself.  
  
"...I *know* something's bothering you, Harry. Why don't you just come right out and say it? You'll feel better afterwards, I'm certain." Hermione had gotten Ron to leave them alone by explaining that Harry'd promised to help her with making some pamphlets for S.P.E.W. that night, and Ron could join if he liked! He was gone in a flash, muttering something about Hermione being 'an Over-Activist,' and Harry, 'a perverted masochist.' Harry was dead impressed—he didn't think she usually even noticed how dull Ron and Harry thought S.P.E.W. was.  
  
But now Hermione was looking at him with uneasy eyes, and Harry hoped she wasn't as perceptive as she seemed. He wasn't certain he could go through with this after all. The whole thing was more confusing than it had any right to be. And how could he put it? 'Well, you see, I find myself wanking off at night, mostly picturing Snape, but often other guys as well, and—hey! Where are you going? Don't you want to hear the part about the Dungeon of Love?' Grimacing, Harry clapped both hands to his face. "Harry, it CAN'T be that bad. Whatever it is, you've seen worse, haven't you?"  
  
"Mmmph. No." Harry breathed sullenly through his fingers. "Trust me. I haven't." Only, since he was speaking from behind his hands, it sounded closer to 'Mupht me. Ai Ahven.'  
  
"What about the time you had to face the dragon in the Triwizard Tournament? That was worse, wasn't it?"  
  
"No." Still sullen, hidden behind hands, glasses pressing uncomfortably into his nose and cheeks.  
  
Hermione was beginning to fret. *Was* it something really bad? "Worse than Cedric?" she whispered anxiously. "Worse than Sirius?"  
  
"Umph. No..." Harry finally dragged his hands away from his face. It was red and white from his hands being squashed up against it. "Hermione...I like someone. I really-really-like-someone-and-it's-someone...um. I don't think I should like them." For Harry, this had been repressed so long that it was a huge relief even to say this much, and the agonizing guilt and confusion he'd been feeling lessened just a little.  
  
He was reveling in the slight cleansing feeling so much that he almost missed Hermione saying, "Erm. It isn't ME, is it?"  
  
"WHAT?" Harry's head jerked up in shock, and he saw her eyes narrow.  
  
He laughed a little. "Oh! No. Good Lord, of course not! Not you, I mean; never YOU." Suddenly he was being pummeled with paper, and fell off his chair in an attempt to get away. "Hey!" he shouted. "What'd I do?"  
  
"What did you DO? You—tactless, inconsiderate, childish brat! Take this! And This! And one of these as well! I'm the sensible one, am I? I'll show you sensible! Harry James Potter, I can't believe you would say such a thing!"  
  
"I don't remember saying ANYTHING awful enough to deserve being madly beaten round the head by a pamphlet-wielding maniac!" Quite out of the blue, he realized that he'd not had the most tactful of reactions, and there might be call for a change in stratagem. "Um. No, see; I wish I DID—that would be GOOD, because then you'd be. No, then I'D be...but I'm not...see. The thing is, Hermione; it's kind of another guy. I like. So. You know. At least you'd be a girl. Er—you are a girl, actually. But this isn't. It's a guy. That I shouldn't like." He squinted his eyes up, wondering if Voldemort were kinder than the teenage hell of his hormone- riddled body.  
  
She stopped thrashing him long enough to consider this. Possible only Hermione, of all the people Harry knew, could have waded through this muddy swamp of his stream of consciousness and come out clean on the other side. She understood Harry liked guys. She understood Harry liked a certain guy. He could see her make the mental connection, and her face went white. "Oh, Harry. It isn't RON, is it?"  
  
"Wow," he responded. "I've never seen you be wrong twice in a row before. I think I might be weak from shock. Help me back on to my seat, would you? Of course it's not Ron. That'd be...just weird. And anyway, I can be pretty oblivious, but I'm not completely oblivious! I've noticed that whenever the two of you are alone together, you come back with faces all red, and hair mussed up, and marks up and down your necks. So even if I did like Ron, why would I tell you? Did you think I called you out to challenge you to a Wizards Cat-Fight about it?"  
  
Hermione's cheeks were very pink, and she held a hand over her mouth. "We didn't think you'd noticed," she finally admitted, chagrinned. "Oh, gosh. Harry, we're sorry. We just didn't want to say anything because we thought you'd feel, well, left out or something. And you shouldn't, really! You're our best friend, both of ours. And we both care such a lot about you."  
  
Harry gave a crooked grin and shrugged. "I know that; it doesn't bother me. And I don't feel left out at all." He was careful not to look her straight in the eye, lest she see the lie, the tiny glimmer of hurt hidden there. "I'm happy for both of you, really. We could all use a bit more happiness, these days. And I can be happy that you're happy." It wasn't a complete lie, just a half-truth. He really WAS happy; it was just that he was also terrifically sad, too. He was lonely. He knew he wouldn't find anyone like that. Who would ever fall in love with a scarred-faced, walking target for Voldemort, after all?  
  
"Thanks, Harry," Hermione beamed at him. "And I don't mind if you like a guy. I don't think Ron will, either. Er. Once he has time to really think it over, I mean," she amended judiciously. "Even if he's not someone I'd pick for you, I'm happy for you. And him, whoever he is. This wonderful guy you like. I mean it!"  
  
"Yeah, but...I can't even tell him. I mean; I just can't! I don't even know for sure that I'm...that way. But even if I am, and even if he is, trust me, he won't want anything to do with me. I just can't stand trying not to think about it anymore! The harder I try not to think about it, the more difficult it is to think of anything else! God, it feels so good, just saying that much!" he threw himself down on the floor in front of the fire, letting the glow from the flames dance across his weary face.  
  
"You know, Harry," Hermione began thoughtfully, "since it's obviously been such a great relief just to talk about it, even in general terms, maybe what you need to do is write about it. Put it in a journal, or something, just whatever you feel; whatever you'd like to say or do but can't. Let it all out, where you can see it in black and white. You'd never have to show it to anybody. You'll have the satisfaction of catharsis, without any of the risk of rejection."  
  
"Huh." He mulled this over. It was the sort of thing Hermione would think of. If there's no book written about it, write one! "That's...really reasonable, Hermione. And unexpectedly cheering, too. I think," Harry told her slowly, as she grinned at him, "I think I would rather like to try it. I mean, maybe if I write it down enough times, enough different ways, I'll either get over it, or get up the courage to do something about it." He sprang to his feet, eyes shining. As they gathered the S.P.E.W. pamphlets and got ready to say goodnight, Harry quickly leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Hermione," he said quietly. "Ron's a really lucky guy."  
  
She gave him an impish look. "Who knows? Maybe Snape really goes for tactless, childish, inconsiderate brats. You could be just his type!" With an evil grin, she turned on her heel, and left Harry still spluttering behind as she made her way to bed.  
  
***See, she's not really a bore. She's just rarely given the chance to be anything else. And, referring to Chapter 12, I would like you all to go back, read it and think about CUT OUT WITH A...and Robin Hood. Didn't any of you watch Kevin Costner's version? Sheesh, I thought a lot of you would get that. BECAUSE IT WILL HURT MORE, YOU IDIOT! And that is taken without permission from Robin Hood, yadda yadda yadda, which I shouldn't even bother to add since no one noticed it anyway. (sulks a little) I'll be off in my dungeon, plotting ways of making Harry endure horrible sexual tension just so the rest of you will have to, as well! Shall there be snogging in the next chapter? I think there shall! And I'm the author, so it's my choice. I know a lot of you are asking for a bit of Snape's POV, but we won't get to that for another couple of chapters. Trust me, I know where I'm going with this. Love from your still somewhat mucus-ridden StarryGazer*** 


	12. Harry the Immeasurably Clumsy, and Some ...

***I need to stop making promises I can't keep. No snogging this round, just tension. But goooood tension. I just got carried away, and then I found a good stopping point and thought; I COULD continue to write until I got to the snogging scene, but then it'll basically be two chapters squeezed into one. And that would be too unwieldy. So, alas, you are stuck with mere exploding balls. But gooood exploding balls. No, wait, that was tension. Hee hee. And since I know you'd like to see it, drop by and check out some of my doodles. It's still under construction, but I'm having fun with it anyway. No, actually I'm frustrated and have been waving fists and threatening bodily harm at it, but of course it doesn't listen. Damn websites. StarryGazer***  
  
Chapter 15: Harry the Immeasurably Clumsy, and Some Exploding Balls  
  
Harry was horrified that Hermione knew about his interest in the Potions Master—at least, he was at first. But Hermione didn't tease him about it (come to think of it, he should have known she wouldn't) and, in fact, didn't even bring it up again. And her suggestion about the journal turned out to be pure gold. Harry even figured out a sure fire way of getting everyone else to stay out of it. When Ron leaned over and asked what he was writing, Harry simply smiled and said, "I'm the secretary of S.P.E.W. Hermione wants me to keep good notes." Ron looked vaguely upset about this, and never brought it up again. Harry did the same thing whenever anyone showed an interest, telling them that they should have a look at all the facts and figures he'd copied down. He enjoyed watching people pull nasty faces and back away, and once or twice, he shared a secret, guilty smile with Hermione over the whole thing. He felt she was being a really good sport about it, considering.  
  
Harry found the journal rough going, in the beginning. He'd never taken the time to sort through things like feelings, let alone put them into words or coherent sentences. At first, he just scribbled in disjointed thoughts; how he was uncomfortable with himself, how he wondered what the wizarding world thought of gays, whether Snape was interested in men, and how Harry could get the man interested in him. And whether he was completely insane for even wanting it. He had to assume he was; he didn't see anyone else following the man about, hanging off his every word and falling into those dark, dark eyes.  
  
He found himself watching Lavender, one day, as she penned Lee Jordan's name on the cover of her notebook and proceeded to lavishly decorate it with tiny hearts and lip shapes. Harry was revolted. Then he tried doing the same with Snape's name in his journal, and had to scratch it out. It just didn't look right. Maybe if he decorated it with tiny bats and spider webs. He gave it a try, just out of curiosity, and ended up nearly having to leave Charms, he was so convulsed with laughter. It did look somehow right, though. In a fit of whimsy, he covered the front of his own notebook with Snape's ambivalent faces.  
  
He began taking the journal with him everywhere, paranoid that if he left it about, someone would read it. He tried to be careful not to name names very often, but he often forgot himself, especially when he was writing about Snape. He wrote about the time Snape laughed, after Harry's incident involving the trash can, and how, afterward, Harry slyly referred to the man by his whole name, just to see what it was like to say 'Severus' out loud in front of him. Harry thought the name quite sexy, and wondered if he'd ever get a chance to use it again. He also wrote of how his heart fluttered a little the first time the man called Harry by his first name, when he was having that panic attack. He liked the idea that they might call each other by their first names, become friends, even.  
  
He watched Snape out of the corner of his eye, a week later, as Harry wrote, 'SOMEDAY I WILL THANK PROFESSOR SNAPE FOR THIS,' which he thought was somehow kind of sweet...and THAT would have to go in the journal as one of the sickest thoughts he'd ever had. The Potions Master was working on Hermione's Occlumency, which Harry found rather more entertaining now that he knew one or two things Hermione might like to keep to herself.  
  
"Really, Granger, I do wish you'd work harder at this," the man told her after one long and particularly grueling battle for her memories. Hermione had ended up on the floor, scowling at Snape. He shuddered a little, adding, "There are some things a man should NOT have to witness, even in the name of attempting to save the world from the Dark Lord's clutches. If you insist on DOING things like that to Mr. Weasley, I suggest you invest in a Pensieve, and let me instruct you in how to remove such thoughts before class."  
  
Hermione got to her feet, inflamed with embarrassment, and for some reason shot Harry a dirty look. He glanced at Snape and hid his half-smile by turning back to his work. "That's all right," he heard Hermione testify testily. "I'll try harder, that's all."  
  
Harry himself was improving greatly at Occlumency, perhaps prodded into action by the terrifying thought of Snape discovering some of Harry's own fantasies about his teacher. When it was his turn, Harry tried to picture a white room, with white windows, walls, doors, and bright white light seeping in from everywhere, obliterating every other thought. He indistinctly felt Snape prodding at this vision, but though it wobbled a bit when the man spoke, Harry managed to hold on. Finally, Snape dropped the attack.  
  
"That was...a new approach," the professor commented quietly. "I doubt you would have been able to keep it up, were you surrounded by Death Eaters and exposed to physical torment, as well, but...perhaps a useful idea, none the less. I am...probably less horribly displeased with you than ever."  
  
When Harry's face lit up and he swelled like he was ready to burst, Snape attacked again. Suddenly, Harry found himself staring at Snape as he stalked Harry in the Forest, moving swiftly and predatorily. Harry gulped at this memory, and threw a curse blindly. He heard something shatter, but it must not have hit Snape, because the memory shifted, showing a vision of Harry's notebook, riddled with ambivalent faces. This was disastrous! Harry HAD to stop thinking these thoughts! He shouted out curses, right and left; hearing them ricochet and careen wildly around the room, to no effect. Snape was still in his head, sifting through those exquisite memories; the Potion Master's hand, making a graceful gesture; the man's voice, a whiskey- tinged timbre sliding past a pink tongue; his lips, twisted in a smirk; his eyes, with that eyebrow in its characteristic position. Harry shot a couple of hexes and spells out randomly and still, nothing happened. The dream he'd had last night. God, no, not that one! The Potion Master leaned down, lips parted slightly, and Harry thought desperately of that room. White room! White walls! White floor, ceiling, windows, white white white! He clutched at the colour with his mind, willing his thoughts not to stray. Finally, the attack subsided.  
  
"You are far too trusting, Mister Potter," he heard Snape's self- satisfied voice above him, and looked up at the man through crooked glasses. The professor was offering his hand, one brow raised as Harry had pictured. Bashfully, Harry let him help him to his feet. "If your enemies flatter you, will you let them in so easily as you did me?"  
  
Harry glanced around the room in bewilderment, taking in the damage he had wrought. The students' desks were overturned and looked as though they'd been thrown haphazardly around the chamber. A bottle of ink had burst, and covered the floor and one wall with a dark blue mist. Ron and Hermione were peering cautiously around McGonagall's sturdy desk. Some of the chairs had been broken into matchsticks, others merely beaten and abused. "Did I do that?" Harry wondered in a hushed voice.  
  
"Indeed," Snape replied, trying to take his hand back. Harry was not yet willing to relinquish the man's unexpectedly warm grasp, and refused to let go. This meant he was pulled toward the teacher and, thinking quickly, made a calculated stumble into the man's arms. Since the Potions Master had not anticipated this, he tried to step away from Harry, slid on a loose chair leg, and lost his balance. The Potions Master found himself in a brief plummet with an abrupt stop at the end. Harry determinedly kept hold of his hand, so he was yanked off his feet atop the man. Harry came to rest with arms and legs akimbo, flopped on Snape's body, head resting on the man's chest.  
  
"Do. You. Mind. Mister Potter?" Snape asked him coldly. Harry had to tilt his head very far back to see the man's face, as Severus had managed to land in a position where he was half sitting up. Harry blew his wayward hair out of his eyes and tried to give the man his most appealing, repentant expression. The Potion Master's face was a little out of focus (by now, Harry's glasses hung from one ear) but he did hear a disgruntled 'Humph,' from above. "I never thought I'd be in the most undignified position of being able to say this," Snape informed him, "but I think you ought to consider un-straddling me and getting up. This is the way unfortunate rumors start, and besides that, your chin is very sharp. It's digging into my ribs."  
  
Harry, relieved at how well the man seemed to be taking it, levered himself into a different position. Not COMPLETLEY different, it must be said, because he figured that if Snape really wanted him gone, he could damn well throw him off, but he tried to adjust his chin at least so that it wasn't quite as uncomfortable for the professor. He watched interestedly as Snape grimaced and felt the floor beneath him, gently extracting the chair leg that had caused such trouble. He glared at the offending piece of wood and tossed it aside. "Well," the man finally said with a sour sigh, "disaster-prone Potter does it again." Harry attempted to give him a winning smile. "Stop leering at me, you insufferable brat. Did I not instruct you to GET THE HELL OUT OF MY LAP?" Startled, Harry scrambled off the man. "Better." He dusted himself off. "I know I professed myself captivated by your previous singular footwork in that mesmerizing comic ballet; what I still occasionally like to refer to as 'Harry's Epic Battle with the Wastepaper Basket of Doom,' I cannot fathom why you would think I felt the urge to participate in a sequel."  
  
"Um. Gosh. I am really, extremely sorry," Harry began, but Snape waved the words away. Harry offered his own hand to the professor, who glowered at it balefully for a moment before hauling himself to his feet without assistance. Harry risked a glance back at Ron and Hermione, who were looking aghast and speechless. He gave them a sheepish grin before turning back to the matter at hand. "I—I. You're not hurt, are you?" Harry bit his lip as he watched the man inspect a tear at the elbow of his robe.  
  
Snape gave him a withering look. "While YOU might enjoy intermittently, violently throwing yourself to the floor at random, I can assure you that I am far less accustomed to it. I'm going to have bruises on bruises after this, and the state of my joints will be even more lamentable." He flicked a glance at the youth and muttered, "I suppose you have not suffered, overmuch?" His tone was deliberately indifferent, but Harry's heart soared.  
  
"Um. My ear hurts," Harry admitted, rubbing it. He took his hand away, and was surprised to see blood.  
  
"Harry! You're cut!" he heard Hermione exclaim, and suddenly she and Ron were next to him, checking to see if he was all right. "Ohhh...Harry," Hermione breathed. "You've got a shard of glass in there."  
  
Ron flinched and looked away. "Yuck, mate. It's sticking right up out of your ear. Gruesome. Fred and George'll have wished they hadn't missed it."  
  
"All right, all right, push off, the both of you," Snape chased them away. "One of you find my wand, and the other some kind of cloth, or something. We'll have to wipe a bit of the blood away so I can see where I'm aiming." Hermione handed him his wand, while Ron used the sleeve of his robe to delicately wipe away some of the gore. Harry flinched a little, and Snape said, "That's enough." He very gently tilted Harry's head to one side, and drew the glass from his flesh. A fresh surge of blood followed its removal, and Harry whimpered a little at the appalled looks on Ron and Hermione's faces. "Oh, stop being such a baby, Potter," Snape replied, dabbing at the wound with his own sleeve. "I've seen far worse than this little nick, I think you'll live." He quickly cast a healing spell, and the wound mended itself neatly. "That ought to do it," he said, wiping some more of the blood away, examining the ear for further damage. As the ear no longer hurt to be touched, Harry felt himself give an excited shiver as Snape softly ran his finger along the back. Unconsciously, he lifted one hand to grasp the front of the Potion Master's robes. "Did that hurt?" Snape inquired, concerned.  
  
Harry's mouth was dry. "Just a little," he murmured, praying that the man would keep touching him. Snape leaned in for a closer inspection, and Harry's eyes fell half shut when he felt warm breath on his neck. "I don't think there are any additional shards," Snape said in a low voice, looking closely and contemplatively stroking Harry's ear. "I imagine it came from your glasses. You've probably mangled them, as you've done to everything else within sight." Harry wrinkled his nose, and was just about to protest that he hadn't meant to, when a high-pitched scream rent the air.  
  
Snape jerked back, head pivoting to face the door. Another jarring shriek penetrated the night. Ron gulped and looked to the professor. "I thought you put a Silencing Charm up. You always do."  
  
Snape made his way toward the door, already in clandestine prowler mode. "The wards keep our noises in, Weasley," he informed them in a hushed voice. "They do not keep other noises out." He cocked his head at the door, and did not seem surprised when a third scream followed the others. "You three. Stay here," he commanded, and slipped out into the darkness of the castle.  
  
"It sounded like a banshee," Hermione whispered tautly.  
  
"Do you reckon we should follow him?" Ron asked, glancing at the other two for approval. Hermione looked disapproving, and Harry caught his breath. He didn't want anything to happen to Ron or Hermione, but what if something happened to Snape?  
  
"He'll be fine, Harry," Hermione told him sharply, once again proving how observant she was. "He's spent plenty of years playing with the big, bad, Death Eaters; a little banshee isn't going to bother him much."  
  
Another cry floated up to them, and it was faint and indistinct. Good God, what if that time it wasn't a banshee at all? What if it was Snape, yelling for help? "I can't, Hermione," he said to her raggedly, "I can't stand not knowing. I have to do something." He darted to the door, Ron right at his heels. With a moan of frustration, Hermione followed.  
  
They crept down the hall, trying to keep in mind everything Snape had taught them. No talking, not even whispering. They communicated with muted gestures and quick nods. Stay close to the walls. Wands at the ready. If you see something, don't hesitate to curse it like crazy, just in case it plans on doing the same to you. Regulate your breathing, quietly, quietly...close your eyes. Harry's hand tightened on his wand. What was that? He felt Hermione's hand touch his arm, a signal to stop. They halted in the shadowy hall, hearts beating.  
  
All of a sudden, the world seemed to explode. The brightest light Harry had ever seen burst into the hall, and a tumultuous racket reached them. They threw themselves to the floor, hands covering their heads. The light wavered and died, but the sound continued. It gradually diminished, changing from one overwhelming crash to a discordant, clanging, rattling, tinkling clamor. Harry lifted his head, trying to discern the origin of the din. He pointed unsteadily down the hall.  
  
A thought struck him: if Snape had been anywhere near the source of the blast, it would be HIS ears bleeding. *Calm down, calm down,* Harry told himself. *Pomfrey can probably fix deafness just as promptly as she can broken bones.*  
  
Ron helped Hermione to her feet, eyebrows raised in concern. She nodded shortly, as if to say she was fine, and Harry gingerly picked himself up as well. Ron pointed north, and Harry nodded. With a determined chin, Ron led the way swiftly toward the unknown. The noises were still coming, less continuous, but no reduction of racket. They could hear other sounds now, too; the castle was waking up.  
  
Harry began to hurry, knowing he had to make the scene before there were other teachers there to bar the way. At the back of his mind, an agitated little voice was hissing, 'Snape, Snape, Snape.' He forced himself to be calm, logical. They were heading ever north, and going up where ever they could. The source was high above the rest of the castle, and Harry's legs ached from climbing staircase after staircase. Hermione waved a hand at them and mouthed, 'The North Tower.' It had to be right; nothing else was this high or this far north. Now knowing their destination, they ran more briskly, racing up the narrow winding stairway.  
  
At the base of the silvery ladder beneath the Divination classroom, a glittering, sharp, field of ruin lie at their feet. "What happened?" Ron whispered hoarsely.  
  
"Who's there?" Snape's voice barked in response. His face appeared framed in the trapdoor, and he looked distinctly unhappy to see them. "Idiot children," he growled. "Get out of here this instant!"  
  
In the background, they heard Trelawney sobbing. "Oh, oh, Severus," she choked, and the Potion Master's head whipped up.  
  
"Don't come over here, Sybil," he warned. "There's glass all over the place." He looked down at them again and made a shooing motion.  
  
They began to back away, hearing the Divination teacher's wavering voice still moaning, "My crystal balls! Every last one of them! Oh, oh, oh!" She broke down into garbled snuffles once more. Hermione jerked on their arms, and led them sprinting back down the stairs, dodging the inquisitive voices of Dumbledore and McGonagall, home to the safety of Gryffindor Tower.  
  
Once there, back among their newly awakened classmates, the three looked at each other gravely. "They were shattered," Harry commented in a soft voice. "Every last one of them. Do you know how thick and heavy one of those things is? It'd be like blowing apart a cement brick!" Hermione's eyes were wide and she nodded seriously.  
  
Ron came and put his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. He smirked just a little at Harry and mouthed, 'Bet Trelawney didn't see THAT one coming.'  
  
.  
  
***Perhaps we will finally reach the anticipated snogging in the next chapter. Or not. How much I torture you depends on how much you praise me in your reviews. You see? I, too, am learning a thing or two from our Esteemed Potions and Punishment Master. Mwah ha ha ha ha...behold the terrible splendor of the authoress...All right, all right, I'm over my little power trip now. Already at work on the next chapter. Sweet dreams; of whipped cream and cherries and Snape on top. My favorite recipe! Tell me how you love me! StarryGazer*** 


	13. A Kiss is but a Kiss, but a Tongue Lashi...

Chapter 16: A Kiss is but a Kiss; A Tongue-Lashing is Something Else  
Entirely  
  
Hermione managed to get Harry alone the next morning, and he looked interestedly at her, sure she had had some new idea about the previous evening. He was surprised when she immediately began to rebuke him for his conduct with Snape. "Honestly, Harry, if you keep acting like that, Ron's going to figure it out. EVERYONE will figure it out; you can't just THROW yourself on the man like that! It was embarrassing, really. Do you have any idea how bad it looked; you spread-eagle on top of him like that? Stop making a fool of yourself over him!"  
  
Harry's face burned, and he slouched in his seat, feeling defensive. "You know perfectly well I'd be making a fool of myself, anyway. At least this way I can say I was doing it for a reason. And anyway, what would you know? You never had any problem getting Ron to look at you. At least Snape looked at me, I mean; at least I really got his attention last night."  
  
Hermione covered her eyes with her hands, looking wound up. "Please, Harry. Just be. Just tone it down a little. Stop thinking so much about it; there's something funny going on around here, and you need to stay sharp. What happened last night has got to be significant in some way. I mean; crystal balls don't just blow up on their own. We have to find out what's going on."  
  
Harry was determined to wring every last detail of the previous night's events out of the Potions Master. He gritted his teeth all through his lessons, wishing time would just have mercy on him and PASS, already. Ron and Hermione looked much the same, tapping their fingers on their desks, giving each other impatient looks, unable to concentrate for any of the other teachers. There had been no explanation given for the night before, just an announcement that Divination was canceled until further notice.  
  
Lavender looked like she could cry at the news, but most of the Gryffindors were quite pleased. First they had gotten out of Potions for two months, and now they would not have to face Trelawney for an undetermined amount of time. The atmosphere in the common room was cheerful, as though someone had granted a special holiday. Harry wished he could be as happy as everyone else, but he really wished he could pay a visit to the North Tower and find out what happened. Whatever it was, he was fairly certain it wasn't cause for celebration.  
  
When they finally trooped into the Transfiguration room that night, eager to pry all of the off-the-record details out of their professor, they stopped short in the doorway. "Well. The prodigal sons return," Snape confronted them frostily. "Am I expected to be pleased to see you? Hmm?" He suddenly loomed above them, eyes crackling with fury, every line in his body ablaze with suppressed magical energy.  
  
Harry found it abruptly difficult to catch his breath. "We. We—I'm sorry we didn't listen to you, sir," he managed to say in a breathy voice, eyes big behind his new glasses. He reached a hand to the collar of his robes, which he attempted to loosen discreetly.  
  
Snape stared at him, looking rather thrown. "Yes. Well. Be that as it may," he continued, noticeably flustered, "not *only* did you manage to completely disregard my orders, you went and left me with quite a mess." He was building up steam again, and Ron and Hermione, sensing that Harry was the only one with the ability to deter the man, stepped quickly behind their friend. Snape began to yell, gesturing wildly, arms thrown wide in exasperation. "I came back here to find you three didn't even make the goddamn ATTEMPT to repair the destruction in this room. Several of the chairs could not be salvaged—not even with magic, Potter, and the replacements came right out of my pay. WHICH, I assure you, is pitiful enough as it is, without any additional expense tacked on! And do you have any IDEA of how difficult this shambles was to explain to McGonagall!? I cannot think of a SINGLE GOOD REASON for continuing to tutor you considering the DEPLORABLE, god-awful, incredibly barbarous, completely inexcusable behaviour of this nefarious threesome!"  
  
"We'll make it up to you!" Harry squeaked desperately. He grabbed hold of one of the teacher's arms, trying to hold it still and calm the man down. "I'll pay! I'll pay you back, out of my own pockets! I promise! Please don't stop teaching us! It was all my fault, I'll take responsibility! Punish me however you like, only please, please say you'll still tutor us! You can make me clean bedpans! You can force me to help with your potions! You can make me your house elf and force me to clean your own personal chambers! You can humiliate me and degrade me all you want in front of Malfoy and I won't even complain! You can—"  
  
Snape jerked his arm away and glared at the youth, once again seeming to get disconcerted, his normally sallow face looking feverish and pink. "Stop it, Potter," he hissed, wrapping his arms around himself almost defensively. "You're gibbering like a confused monkey."  
  
Ron and Hermione were watching this with open mouths. Ron was shaking his head in befuddlement. "Harry," he whispered hoarsely, "WHAT is WRONG with you? Good grief, man! Stop falling all over yourself, it's just Snape! We don't need him that badly! Try to have a little dignity, would you?"  
  
"Shut up, Weasley," Snape retorted bitingly. "Get to your bleeding wall and do your bleeding punishment, and stop blustering about as though you've a right. You're quite the most revolting creature I've ever seen, and my patience has worn so thin, I doubt I'll be able to stop myself from dismembering you the next time you open your mouth. And there will be no Occlumency and no lessons tonight. You'll do your blasted walls from start to finish; you fully deserve it, and anyway I'm too unnerved to bother with your asininity tonight." The man sounded so livid and so unhinged that Ron did not test him further, and all three students rushed to get to their walls when he pointed at them.  
  
Harry found himself hastily scribbling, 'PROFESSOR SNAPE IS NOT MADE OF MONEY,' too afraid to turn and check how Hermione was progressing on her, 'PROFESSOR SNAPE IS NOT MY MAID,' (which was partially her own decision, as she had refused to put 'house elf') or Ron's vengefully awarded, 'I DO NOT OWN THE PLACE.' Harry was on edge, listening to Snape pacing and growling about 'Intolerable, ungrateful, cheeky, cocksure, miserable little beasts,' at one end of the room, and just making out Ron muttering, 'Unpleasant, overbearing, self-righteous, belligerent, ruthless bastard' at the other. He didn't think his nerves could take much more of this. Harry was just sure that any moment Ron was going to go too far, and Snape was going to go spare, and there would be bloodshed and mayhem and possibly the total meltdown of Professor McGonagall's classroom.  
  
Every time Ron picked up speed or his voice rose, Hermione would hiss something quelling, and Ron would settle down. Harry was inordinately thankful of this, and tried to do his best in turn to placate Snape by mouthing, 'I'm sorry,' and 'please don't kill us,' whenever he saw the man looking at him. Judging by the deepening scowl on the man's face, it wasn't really helpful.  
  
At the end of the detention, Hermione dragged Ron quickly from the room, while Harry hesitantly approached the professor. "Um. I'd just like to say again that I'm sincerely sorry about making such a mess of things. Er. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? I mean; I could help you grade the first years' papers or something. Come on. What do you want me to do?"  
  
"I want you to GO AWAY, Mister Potter. I want you to shut your mouth, stop that ceaseless groveling and for Merlin's sake LEAVE ME IN PEACE. Why you'd think I'd want to remain in your company and hear that stomach-turning drivel I'm sure I don't know. The only thing you could possibly give me of any value would be your absence," Snape huffed.  
  
Harry reeled. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. Feeling like his stomach had dropped out of his body, or that the bottom had dropped out of his world, he stumbled backwards a few steps, as though Snape had struck him. Possibly, he looked as awful as he felt, because when Snape glanced up, his eyes widened a bit. The teacher flushed and looked even angrier than before, and hunkered down in his seat. So much for reassurances, then. Harry left, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, ignoring how his eyes were stinging. He had to be a fool to think anything had changed. Snape still completely loathed him.  
  
He didn't run into Ron or Hermione on the way back to the tower, but he was too distraught to care. He faltered his way back to his room and threw himself down on the bed. God, how completely humiliating.  
  
The next day, as he was listlessly moving his breakfast around on his plate, Hermione gave him the bad news. She and Ron had been caught after they'd sneaked into the Astronomy Tower after detention. Apparently, Snape had given Filch the Repellant Potion after all, and they poured Anti- repellant Potion on the doors every morning. But, as both Filch and Snape had admitted, Hermione was one of the few people who could overcome such a barrier herself, and she'd evidently decided to do so.  
  
Harry was dumbfounded. "Why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?" he demanded, shocked. He wasn't sure which part of her story was the craziest; the way she'd broken the rules, the way she acted completely unrepentant, or the fact that she was in the Astronomy Tower.  
  
"Well, I had to, Harry," she told him in a matter of fact voice. "Ron was ready to go up in flames. And Snape would have happily added fuel to the fire. If I didn't drag him out of there and get him thoroughly distracted, we'd still be scraping bits of them off the walls." She shrugged, picking one of Harry's strawberries off his plate and popping it in her mouth. "So anyway, after we left last night, how did it go?"  
  
Harry winced. "Well. You could probably guess. Disaster-prone Potter did it again." He gave a self-mocking smile. "At least I know conclusively how Snape really feels about me." He gave his waffle a vicious stab with his fork.  
  
"Oh, Harry," Hermione put an arm around him. "What did you do?"  
  
He raised his shoulders a little. "Nothing. I just offered to make it up to him, and he told me how utterly repulsive he found me, and basically that he'd rather be coated with steak sauce and tossed into a vat of rabid sharks than spend another ten minutes in my company. You know, the usual."  
  
"Oh, Harry," she repeated sadly. "I'm sorry. You do realize that it wasn't a very likely match, though. I mean, ANYONE with Snape is implausible; the only reason you didn't win his heart is that he hasn't GOT one. Look, it'll get better. I promise."  
  
He gave her a bitter smile and went back to picking at his food. "Mind if I join you guys tonight in your detention with Filch? It's my fault, as always, that you got in trouble, and I highly doubt Snape will be anything but relieved if I don't show up in his class."  
  
"All right, Harry," she agreed unexpectedly. "And anyways, it'll serve him right. If he wanted the DADA job so badly, he could at least be human to the one person who actually wanted him to teach it. Maybe after he hasn't a chance to teach it anymore, he'll realize what a...what a..." she groped for a suitably horrible word, "what a complete tosser he's being." She covered her mouth with her hand and giggled, causing Harry to smile a little and roll his eyes.  
  
"Yeah, but I wouldn't place any bets on it. I'm guessing the only thing he'll think on the subject is 'So long and good riddance.'"  
  
That night, the three of them were cleaning the boys' urinals on the second floor (much to Hermione's mortification), but still chatting and trying to make the best of it. Filch glared on, reveling in the faces they pulled as they suffered through the awful task. About an hour into the detention, they heard a familiar voice at the door.  
  
"I was under the impression," the chilly tone wafted in, "that Mister Potter would still be spending *his* detention with *me.*"  
  
Harry glanced up to see Snape, arms crossed, lips pinched. He decided he was too miserable to be frightened of the man. He just didn't have room for any other emotion. He gave an indifferent shrug. "I honestly prefer Filch and his toilets," he replied coolly.  
  
Snape blinked. "However that may be, your punishment is not yours to choose. Come with me, Mister Potter." He did that sweeping turn Harry had always thought so impressive and stalked out of the room.  
  
"'Bye, guys," Harry told them glumly, and rose to follow.  
  
Neither of them said a word as they walked away from the bathroom, and Harry, in truth, had no great desire to ever say anything to the man again. Snape was leading him away from McGonagall's room, but Harry was too apathetic to take an interest. Even when he realized where they were headed, his curiosity only flared for a moment, before falling back into cold despair. So what if Snape wanted to hang about in the North Tower? That was his business, and Harry wasn't going to say a word. He knew damn well Snape wasn't going to answer any questions, anyway.  
  
"Up the ladder," Snape ordered, and Harry acquiesced passively. When they reached the room, which was empty of both crystal balls and the shards that had remained of them, Snape looked at him sharply. "I suppose you're wondering what we're doing here."  
  
Harry gave a dispirited shrug, and looked at the man lifelessly. "Not really," he responded quietly. He went and sat down in one of Trelawney's chairs, looking out the window and doing his best to ignore the man.  
  
Snape was immobile for a couple of moments, before he found his voice. "Snap out of it, Potter. I suppose you realize how immature it is, to sit there and sulk like that?"  
  
Harry felt a flicker of annoyance. "I'm not sulking," he answered calmly. "I'm just trying to stay out of your way, and not bother you with questions you don't want to answer."  
  
"Well. Then." Snape didn't seem to know how to deal with this. A rampantly stupid Potter was more familiar. A subdued, cautious Potter was completely unknown. "I don't know why I should bother trying to impart knowledge if you're just going to stare absently out the window," he said finally.  
  
"All right," Harry responded, as though that was an end of it.  
  
"What do you mean, 'all right,' you annoying whelp? You're still staring out the window."  
  
Harry sighed and turned to face him. "All right, you don't have to teach us anymore. All right? There. All settled." He turned away again, looking somehow fragile in the moonlight. "I know we've been a lot of trouble, and you don't enjoy it," he paused, but when the man didn't interrupt, he continued, "and we don't enjoy it, either. You're not a very good teacher, you know." He thought Snape may have made a sound at that, but he wasn't sure. "And we're not very good students, either. Obviously, there's a gaping rift between you and the rest of us, and none of us are capable of bridging it. There's such an utter lack of understanding on both sides that it's ridiculous. And I have too many other things going on in my life to make this kind of effort—we're all of us beating our head against a brick wall; it doesn't do any good. The sensible thing to do to here would be to know when to quit. So that's what I think we ought to do. We'll go back to doing lines every night, and you don't have to bother with us. Or we can all go to detentions with Filch, and you don't even have to lay eyes on us if you don't want to. All right? Satisfied? A good solution, don't you think?" Snape still didn't say anything, and Harry rested his head on his arm, feeling a few tears leak out.  
  
"You are just—just—far too thin-skinned, Mister Potter," the professor finally stammered at him. "You go and blow up my classroom, blow up McGonagall's classroom, get me into all kinds of trouble, and then you expect me to be cheerful and encouraging about it? I've never been cheerful or encouraging about anything. This is so. Very like you, is all I can say. How dreadfully maudlin and delicate you are. And so much for that Gryffindor stubbornness you show off at every turn. You're just unwilling to exert yourself, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes, that must be it," Harry snuffled a little. "Whatever you say." If Snape was trying to goad him into arguing, it wouldn't work. There just wasn't any fight in him tonight.  
  
The Potions Master gave a loud, irritated sigh. "You once told me that you didn't want anyone to baby you. Does this still hold true?" Harry forwent a response. "For pity's sake, will you stop it? Stop it," he repeated, as Harry wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I absolutely cannot—here, take my handkerchief." He grabbed Harry's chin and roughly wiped away the tears. Somewhere along the way, the touch turned into a caress. Harry gazed up at the man with large, hurt eyes. "Damn it, Potter, you of all people ought to know that I have a...certain abrasiveness to my character. I cannot simply wish my bad temper away. If you're going to do stupid things, like follow me into dangerous situations after I've expressly told you not to, you've got to expect a tongue-lashing in return. It wasn't as though I meant anything by it. Idiot boy, I was worried about you," he finally admitted, sounding somewhat bitter. Harry was so surprised that he jerked back, away from Severus's hand. They stared at each other for several minutes. The Potions Master muttered something, turning away.  
  
"What?" Harry whispered.  
  
"I said I'm sorry!" the man snapped, stuffing his handkerchief back in his pocket. "Idiot. And don't expect to ever hear it again!"  
  
Harry covered a smile with his hand. It wasn't exactly roses and poetry, but in Harry's mind, sweeter words could not have been said. Severus had been worried about him. That's why he was irritable afterward. And he hadn't meant it, after all. Yet Harry felt like there was something he still needed to know. "Do you hate me?" he asked softly, seriously. "Still, I mean? Like you did in first year? Like you hated my father?"  
  
Severus rolled his eyes, annoyed to be caught up in Harry's sentimental neediness. "Oh, stop being stupid, Potter. I don't hate you. I don't...dislike you as I used to, and I never hated you. I did have to attempt it, you know. Act it out. One would think by now your tepid brain might have muddled through to a reason. Have I not told you how very skilled the Dark Lord is at Legilimency? I could not afford a fond thought of you. I could hardly afford a memory where I was kind to you, where I was pleasant. And I sure as hell could not afford for Malfoy junior to go running home to tell Daddy Death Eater that I was nice to or felt affection for Harry Potter. Now. Is that enough sharing for one night? Will you stop your sniveling so we can get on with it?"  
  
Harry nodded shyly, and had just opened his mouth to inquire why they'd come to the North Tower, when a voice interrupted him.  
  
"No, Minerva, I heard voices, I tell you! Death Eaters! They've broken my balls and now they're back for more!" Trelawney's screechy rant came up the stairs, and Harry stared at Severus, alarmed. Where would they go?  
  
Snape gestured to a small door nearby, and Harry hurriedly followed him inside. He found himself scrunched against the Potions Master in what seemed to be a small closet. A fur coat that actually wriggled kept trying to wrap itself around him. He shoved at it, grunting a little, and found Snape's hand over his mouth. He froze, shocked. It was too dark to see in the closet, but he was sure Snape could feel the rising heat on his face. Severus quickly took his hand away, and Harry wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.  
  
"You see, Sybil? There is absolutely no one here. You were dreaming—of the future or something," Professor McGonagall told her placatingly. "Look, not even a dormouse. Now will you get back to bed?"  
  
"I heard someone, I tell you! Perhaps they're in the closet!"  
  
"Oh, yes," McGonagall said scathingly. "Voldemort and his Death Eaters exploded your crystal, infiltrated your room, are here to take over the castle, I shouldn't doubt, but then they heard us and decided to hide in the closet. Perfectly reasonable."  
  
"I don't see why no one ever believes me," they heard Trelawney complaining, but her voice was getting further away.  
  
"...need to get some sleep," McGonagall responded, her voice quite faint now.  
  
Harry shifted a little, but Snape stopped him with a quick touch. They would not move until they were sure. As they waited, Harry began to fantasize again. He had never been so close to the man for so long before. The Potions Master smelled nice, clean, but faintly of musk. Harry raised his head a little, breathing in the man's scent. He wondered what it would be like to hold him. To touch him. A little, devilish voice in his head was chanting, 'touch him, touch him, go on, touch him.' When he felt Snape shift a little, getting ready to say they could go, he reached up in the darkness until he felt the man's face. He felt Snape freeze, but the man didn't pull away, so Harry slowly moved his hand, stroking the man's cheek.  
  
"What do you think you're doing, Mister Potter?" Snape finally said.  
  
"I. Um. You had...something on your face," Harry said hopefully, biting his lip.  
  
"Potter, how the hell could you possibly tell if I had something on my face?" the man said with heated annoyance. "It's as black as seven hells in here."  
  
Sheepishly, Harry gave a shrug. "Oh, well," he sighed. "At least I got you to look at me."  
  
"Once again, how the hell could I do that? Make reference to my comment regarding the blackness of seven hells, if you would." He didn't sound upset, merely as irritable as he usually was.  
  
Harry smiled a little. He had to. The urge to do something was reaching overwhelming proportions; he felt like he was riding on the tip of a tidal wave. Before he could lose his nerve (this would take nerve, but he was a Gryffindor, he was up to the challenge) he gripped the man's shoulder with one hand, and used his other to firmly take Severus's chin and turn his face down to Harry. The Potions Master was quite tall, so Harry had to stand on his toes, as he leaned forward and swiftly pressed his lips to the teacher's.  
  
Harry was positive that this was going to result in another stream of, 'What the hell do you think you're doing, Potter? What the hell is wrong with you? Get off of me! Six thousand points from Gryffindor for sexually assaulting a teacher,' but, to his surprise, the man didn't even pull away. For a long, teetering moment, which felt as though it was balanced on the edge of a precipice, waiting for one tiny nudge to fall and fail forever, neither of them moved. Then, softly, Harry felt a return pressure pulling on his own lips. He was astonished. It might be faint, it might be chaste, but Severus Snape was kissing him back. The darkness around them was the colour of music, the silence a symphony of sparks. It was so much more than Harry had hoped for, and he threw his arms around the man's neck, letting his knees go weak, letting himself hang from the Potions Master's lips. Severus had not returned the embrace, but Harry dimly thought that he could feel fingers ghosting across his hair, so light that they just barely brushed past the locks, feathering them like a breeze.  
  
Before Harry could get used to the kiss, (as though Harry could ever get used to the kiss!) another noise came from the classroom. A loud thump, and then they heard McGonagall exclaim wordlessly. Severus put his hands on Harry's shoulders and forcefully pressed down, breaking the kiss. Harry wanted to groan at the loss of contact, but knew he could not, and settled for a soft, inaudible sigh. God damn Professor McGonagall! If he wasted away and died tonight, it was entirely due to the Transfiguration teacher's terrible timing.  
  
They heard her poke and prod around a bit, letting herself really investigate, now that Trelawney was not hanging on her arm. She never came near the closet. Finally, she seemed satisfied, and they heard her descend the latter, muttering about how a woman Sybil's age should not be allowed to act as though she owned a treehouse.  
  
When she was well and truly gone, Snape took a deep breath and opened the door a crack. "What just happened, Mister Potter, falls under the category of 'It doesn't get spoken about ever, ever, ever, and if you bring it up I will cut out your tongue and force you to ingest it, making you the first man to ever taste the inside of his own stomach.' Understood?"  
  
"Yuck!" Harry exclaimed, making a face. "God, Severus, that was graphic. I mean; gross!" Snape ducked out of the closet, and Harry unhappily followed, cursing all Transfiguration teachers under his breath. 


	14. The Afterglow a Kiss Brings, a Snake, a ...

***This one is on the short side, but it was complete and compact, and darn it, I'm tired. Besides, I wanted one more slightly happy chapter to present you with before starting on...well. You'll see. I'm so glad you liked my last chapter! I'm going to post it again with a few revisions, because I didn't like a turn of phrase here or there, so if you're a really rabid fan, I suggest you go back and read it. For now, I have to give you a little plot. Stupid plot. I like dialogue better. I spent a good hour researching things for plot, you know. The things I do for you people! I love you all, especially my favorite pets Devona Wolfe and Flak, and of course Chantelli (no, I envy and even lust after fictional people all the time, take Mairelon the Magician for preference) and Harper, who made me giggle, and Xicum and Lady of Darkness13 and just all of you; You like me, you really like me! (Chokes with emotion a la Sally Field.) I wouldn't bother to write without all your great encouragement! StarryGazer***  
  
Chapter 17: The Afterglow a Kiss Brings, a Snake, a Name...These Are a Few of  
my Favorite Things...  
  
Snape ignored Harry, riffling through Trelawney's possessions like an expert burglar. Harry trailed behind, unable to take an interest in the search. There was too much adrenaline rushing through his body, making him feel dizzy and desirous and dazed. He absently ran his hands over one of her decks of tarot cards, mentally swearing like a sailor. 'I hate Minerva McGonagall. I hate Transfiguration teachers and Divination teachers and batty old women who butt into other peoples business, and I hate closets with doors that refuse to stick tight when you need it, and I hate. I hate. The Eiffel Tower. Because it's French. And communal bedrooms and bathrooms. And. And. Mosquitoes. And ink bottles that leak until they've built up a crust around the top, and then you can't open them unless you really pry, and then the top finally flies off, and you've got ink all over yourself and your work and your—"  
  
"Mister Potter," Snape interrupted his internal tirade. "If you don't mind being *useful* for a change, I need you to see if you can get under this cupboard."  
  
Harry goggled at him. "Why?"  
  
"Don't. Ask. Me. Questions. Just do it!"  
  
Harry got down on his hands and knees and peered into the darkness. "I can't see anything," he complained.  
  
"Then use your wand to give yourself some light, you undisciplined dimwit!"  
  
"Lumos!" Harry grunted, and pushed his head under the cupboard. The light did not help very much; all it seemed to do was define the shadows. He thrust his wand in front of him, but this put the light in his eyes and made it hard to see anything at all.  
  
"Do you see anything?" Snape asked.  
  
"No," Harry grunted. "But it might help if you told me what I was supposed to be looking for." There seemed to be a mouse hole deep under the cupboard, and Harry wondered vaguely if something could have rolled into it. If it was small, perhaps.  
  
"I don't know what we're looking for," the professor responded tartly. "A connection, perhaps."  
  
"A connection?" Harry's mind called up images of plugs and outlets, and wondered if Mr. Weasley had been about.  
  
"Do you see anything or not, Potter?" the man shot at him. Harry distantly heard him give a loud sigh. "If you can't see anything, you ought to...back out from under there and *turn around.*" Harry only half-heard him, and wondered why Severus sounded so...over-stimulated. There was something else here...if he could only concentrate...  
  
"I don't see anything," he replied, voice muffled as he tried to get as far under the cupboard as possible. Who knew there was so much space beneath it? "...but I think I hear something," he added.  
  
"What? What do you mean, you hear something? What do you hear?" The man was suddenly focused. Snape clambered down on the floor beside Harry. "I don't hear anything. What does it sound like?"  
  
Harry tried to concentrate, his head cocked to the side. Severus was staring at him intently. "It...sounds like...a little voice," he murmured, searching for a way to describe it.  
  
"What the bollocks do mean, a little voice? Are you implying leprechauns? Are you listening to your conscience? What? What the devil are you talking about?"  
  
"Shhh!" Harry remonstrated. "I'm trying to listen!"  
  
"Well, what's it saying?" Snape hissed.  
  
Harry's eyes were unfocused as he tried to explain... "Something about mice...hungry...worried...leave me alone, what's the light, away from the light...hungry...where are the mice..."  
  
Suddenly Snape grabbed Harry by his ankles and yanked him out from under the cupboard, causing the youth to yelp in alarm. Then the man threw himself down in Harry's place, rummaging around beneath the cupboard. Harry heard him mutter, "Accio snake," and give a muted shout of triumph. He wriggled out from beneath the desk, one hand holding a small green garter snake in one hand. "I knew it! I knew there was something. I got you, you little bugger!" He shook the snake a little, a wicked leer of victory across his face.  
  
"Stop it!" Harry interjected, grabbing the man's arm. "You're scaring it! It hasn't done anything—er. Has it?" he added, thinking of Nagini. Could Voldemort be controlling this snake? But it was such a pathetic little thing, and obviously scared out of its mind. He delicately pried the serpent from his teacher's grasp. "Here, let me."  
  
Snape rolled his eyes, but restrained himself from commenting on Harry's over-sensitivity toward the reptile. "If you could tell me what it's saying, and translate a few minor points I'd like to make..."  
  
"He's awfully upset..." Harry responded, but stopped at the severe look the man was giving him. Quietly, he tried to soothe the snake's fears, telling it they were not going to hurt it, but would appreciate its time if it could answer a few questions, and might even be able to find it something to eat. He glanced up when Severus made an impatient sound. "Erm. I think he'd be willing to answer a few questions," Harry told him. "Though I don't know how helpful he'll be. He isn't very bright, and seeing the world from about an inch above the ground..."  
  
"That will be fine," Snape told him. "Ask it how it got here."  
  
Harry hissed the question, and a few others before looking up and saying, "He says he and some others were brought here in a basket by a woman with giant eyes. Er. I think he means Trelawney."  
  
"Ah ha! She never said a word! I knew it! I knew it! She's expressly forbidden to practice Zoomancy! And how did it end up in the mouse hole?"  
  
This took an extended period of questioning, as Harry couldn't quite understand the chain of events from the snake's view, and didn't know exactly what he was trying to find out. Finally, he bit his lip. "It was dark, night I guess, and there was an explosion. There were sharp...objects everywhere, and most of the other snakes, er, died. Or ran away. He tried to run away as well, but he was confused, and he doesn't think he went the right way..."  
  
"Yes, yes, yes. Continue the heartbreaking tale of a snake far from home later. Did he notice anything unusual before the explosion? Any voices? Any magical vibrations?" Snape was leaning forward eagerly, eyes shining, and Harry had a hard time dragging himself back to reality long enough to ask the snake anything.  
  
He was surprised by the snake's reply, and told his teacher, "Well, one of the larger snakes started acting oddly around that time. He...sat straight up, like, and kept talking about having to find someone. Find him quickly. Get near him. And then he took off for the exit, the door I guess, but then Trelawney stepped on him, and then everything exploded."  
  
"Ha!" Snape burst out, looking sinfully pleased. "I knew it! I knew they had to have missed something." He strode purposefully toward the doorway, bridled energy blistering in every step. "Come along, come along; I haven't got all night," he threw at Harry over his shoulder. Harry, panting although he was not exerting himself, hurried to stay near the man. "We'll go and deposit your new friend outside before heading...before...I need to go back to my chambers. I need...you could end detention early, if you like," he suggested offhandedly.  
  
Harry gave him a dark look. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," he returned. "I want to know what the bloody hell is going on around here. Look," he added, grabbing hold of the man's sleeve and forcing them both to a halt in the hallway. "This involves me somehow. It almost always does, so don't go on about how I think the world revolves around me. I'm not asking for everything. I trust you to know how much to tell me, but I also trust you to realize that I can't protect myself from something I don't see coming. I need to know enough to defend myself. Help me do that. Please?"  
  
Snape looked indecisive. At last he relented enough to say, "Very well, Potter. We can discuss it in my chambers."  
  
Harry tucked the snake under his arm and said, "Well, lead the way then."  
  
The Potions Master stared. "I thought you would want to release your new acquaintance in the gardens so...he...could...return to his little family?" he suggested, brows raised.  
  
"Severus," Harry replied warningly, "there are at least fifty-two varieties of carnivorous plants outside of Sprout's greenhouses. Any one of them would be happy to make a midnight snack out of my little snake. I'm sure we can do better for him than that. At least get him a place to sleep for the night, and something to eat..." Harry trailed off, looking up at the man hopefully. Severus looked peeved. His mouth twisted a little, and Harry stuck out his lower lip and fluttered his eyes a couple of times, giving the man the most innocent, beseeching look he could conjure. It was cheesy, he knew, but Severus made him feel cheesy. Or close to. Like a black and white movie, where there was smoking and overacting and long, passionate kisses, and the heroine's foot would kick up behind her while she swooned in the arms of her lover...  
  
Snape looked utterly furious for a moment, before growling, "Fine. Bring the disease-ridden animal along, what do I care?" He marched off toward the dungeons, still fuming. "He's going to be your responsibility, Harry, d'you hear me? You're the one that will have to feed him and clean up after him and take him on walkies. I have enough damn things to do without worrying about that—that cold-blooded little monster." Harry trailed after him, grinning widely. The whole lecture would have been a whole lot more intimidating if the man hadn't referred to Harry by his given name. A kiss, a name, a little snake...maybe that last bit was a little Freudian of him, but on the whole, Harry wouldn't have traded this evening for a sackfull of Galleons. 


	15. Into the Lion’s Den, or Finding a Way to...

***As usual, this chapter turned out completely different than I expected. I have a shrewd idea that someone else is writing this thing; they're just using my fingers, computer and keyboard to do it. Anyway, at least I got the relevant plot inserted, so now I can go back to following my little outline, more or less. I do have one, you know. Helps me remember what I was going to put where. Now, we must all remember to thank the most charming Anomy Mouse, for her humorous version of 'My Favorite Things.' Which I could not see coming out of Julie Andrews, as wildly comic as that would be. I used part of her lyrics in this chapter, because they tickled me so much and I felt they added a certain punch to the paragraph. Now, go forth, my children, into the promised land! A land of milk and honey and snarky Potions Masters and little green reptiles! Truly an Eden for us all!...StarryGazer*** .  
  
Chapter 18: Into the Lion's Den, or Finding a Way to Cuddle Up With the  
Nearest Appendage  
  
Harry managed to contain himself all the way back to the dungeons before throwing a dozen questions at Snape. "All right, what's going on? What's it all about, then? What's this snake and Trelawney's balls have to do with anything? What's he up to now?"  
  
Snape gave Harry a cantankerous look before pouring himself a glass of something out of a crystal decanter and dropping into a chair, looking weary. "She was going to do Ophiomancy, then," he remarked. "I knew it. Albus did his best to deny it, but I knew better. There had to be a connection."  
  
"WHAT CONNECTION?" Harry finally hollered crossly. "Tell me what's going on! What in blazes is Ophiomancy, then?"  
  
Snape gave him a piqued expression, before turning his attention back to his glass. "How to tell the future by the movements and whatnot of snakes," he replied. "How they eat, coil up, that sort of stupid thing. Just like that vapid featherbrain, too."  
  
"Ophiomancy? Really?" Harry remarked, silently agreeing that featherbrain was probably the most appropriate description ever spoken of Professor Trelawney. "Do people really try to tell the future by looking at snakes...Severus?" he slipped in, relishing the feel of the name on his lips.  
  
Snape gave him a mordant glance. "Always have," he said shortly, taking another long swig out of his glass. "Many famous soothsayers and such have done it..."  
  
"Yeah? Like who?" Harry couldn't help questioning. He sat on the floor by Severus's feet and stroked his snake comfortingly.  
  
"Oh, you should know things like that by now. Christ, sixth year already, what are they teaching you?" He drained his glass and quickly got another. "Chalchas, for one. Very famous Ophiomancer."  
  
"Huh," Harry muttered, unimpressed. "I never heard of him." When the professor took his chair again, Harry inattentively scooted over and leaned against the man's legs.  
  
The professor, nose to nose with his second glass of Irish whiskey, didn't seem to notice. "Very famous Greek soothsayer," he repeated indistinctly as he drew a mouthful of spirits. "Foretold the siege of Troy. And all. And there was Shalmaneser, big on Nachash—telling the future by looking at snakes, big on it, he was. Got the rest of them a bad name, forcing the Israelites that way...I imagine you would have been a decent Ophiomancer yourself, if you had a half-way competent teacher." He drained his second glass, and nudged Harry out of the way so he could retrieve a third. Harry didn't mind. Maybe Snape would relax a bit, once he had a few drinks under his belt. God knew he needed it. He'd never met a man more permanently wound up. When the man returned to his chair and flopped back down, Harry promptly leaned back against him again, petting the small serpent with great contentment.  
  
He gazed around Severus's chambers, fascinated. The room they were in was very cluttered, lined with shelves, stuffed with books and bottles and bizarre-looking devices, and other creepy potions making paraphernalia. It looked, Harry decided, like it fit Severus's personality quite well. It was every bit as complex and varied and gloomy and forbidding as he was. Harry found he entirely liked the place. It even smelled of the Potions Master. "Mmmm," He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to impress the moment on his memory. "So there's a connection between the snakes, which Voldemort did something to, and which Trelawney had intended to use for Divination, and me. So what's the connection? What was he trying to do, and why did he decide to do it then? And what caused Trelawney's crystal to explode?"  
  
Severus gave an annoyed grunt. "Do you always ask questions in such succession that the respondent has no time between them in which to answer?" He sighed. "I can't give you all the answers. I am not even in possession of all the answers, not at this point, at least. I suspect Albus has an idea, but he, as usual, is holding all cards close and smiling all the while. Which I feel is wholly inappropriate, given the circumstances. All I have at the moment are...theories. Given your, how shall we say it, rather excessive and tasteless display of magical power, the last time I attempted to view your memories, I imagine that must have...set off bells, as it were. Since the Dark Lord has this bond with you, he must have felt the eruption of magic, the raw power you drew on when you destroyed McGonagall's classroom. I am not certain why this inspired him to act, or what he hoped to achieve from it. I somewhat doubt that I would tell you even if I did know. For your own safety, among other things." He took another swallow, eyes closed.  
  
"But what about the snakes? I know we're both parselmouths, but how did he control that one snake? I mean...I don't know...I thought he'd have to be nearby or something. Or did he plant the snake? No, that doesn't make sense either, unless he somehow knew that Trelawney had taken it into her unstable head to give a lesson on Oph...what was it again?"  
  
"Ophiomancy. Do you know, it's really quite amusing the way you ask questions and then answer them yourself. The way you prattle on, you actually don't need anyone else in the room, but for an audience." Harry gave him a disgruntled look, and realized the man was getting tipsy. How many glasses had he had? At least three, and he was drinking them uncommonly fast. Harry shrugged mentally. How could he know how much was too much for Severus Snape? He wouldn't have the courage to tell him to stop, anyway. Not unless the man was falling down, all-out off his face. "At any rate...when he sensed you using that power, he tried to...get at you. For some reason, it was urgent that he do so without delay. I don't think he knew about the snakes, not immediately. But it would have given him a path. A connection to you. Until he realized it, he simply...looked for a way in, a way to see what was going on in the castle. Most divinatory tools would have been useless to him; he would not have touched any of Trelawney's toys—tarot cards, tealeaves, all that rot. But crystal balls and scrying mirrors can be used for more than divination; they are ideal with communicating with or seeing someone at a distance. The Dark Lord sensed or knew of the fact that these things were kept in Hogwarts. I always told Albus safety precautions were needed, but would he listen? Where was I? Yes, the balls. He was trying to channel his way in, to force his power through to the castle, and get at you. The balls and mirrors in Trelawney's room would have been worthless to him, as they were nowhere near you—the epicenter of the magical upsurge. Still, he forced more power into them, attempting to...well. Likely the less said about that the better. But he found he was in a room with a number of snakes, and, being a parselmouth, quickly took advantage of that minor fact.  
  
"Being...himself, he decided that the largest snake was the likeliest to be able to help him, and he overtook its mind. Then, of course, he sent it to spy on you. At this point, it's all vague conjecture; I have no idea what order anything really happened in. But throwing all that energy into the snake, and the mirrors, and the crystal balls...I assume that the conduit was strained, could only hold so much. Or perhaps his concentration could not be kept on all three tasks at once; at any rate, it was suddenly amplified, and became too much for all three outlets to handle. In response, the crystal shattered, and this caused the mayhem in Trelawney's room, which led her to step on the snake. Which was fortunate for us, else it might have made it to you, and we still do not know his intentions once that was achieved. Disaster averted. Hmph," he added sardonically, sipping at his glass in a much more leisurely fashion than he had previously done.  
  
"I see," said Harry slowly, having difficulty taking it all in. Why would Voldemort send a snake at him just because he'd blown up a classroom? What could the snake do in any case? And did Severus have feelings for Harry, or was what happened in the closet just a one shot deal, never to be repeated? Could he get the man to do it again? Why had Severus let him kiss him? Since he returned the kiss, could he possibly be as attracted to Harry as Harry was to him? And if Harry nuzzled his head against the man's knee a little, how would he react? This, Harry decided, was an experiment worth trying, and summarily put it to the test.  
  
Severus's robes were soft, much softer than they looked, and Harry inhaled the warm, masculine scent of the man from them. One hand he wrapped around the Potions Master's calf, massaging it gently. He heard the man give a faint groan, and grinned impishly into the black fabric. After a few moments, Severus gave what seemed to be a reluctant sigh. "Stop that, Potter," he commanded. "You haven't been listening to a word I've said tonight, have you? Protect yourself from the Dark Lord, indeed. What a laughable excuse to get a chance at wiping your snot all over my leg. Stop it. Get up, come on. It's far past time for you to feed that beast of yours and get off to bed. Go on, get up; I have things to do."  
  
Harry reluctantly dragged himself to his feet, already feeling the loss of the man's warmth against his side. "What about my snake?" he demanded. "He's hungry, we need to feed him something and find a place for him to sleep!"  
  
Severus gave him an irked look. "These are my private chambers, Harry, not a bestiary, and certainly not the Ritz. We do not host scaly little freaks here."  
  
"He's not a freak," Harry replied hotly. "Don't call him that! No one deserves to be called that," he trailed off unhappily.  
  
The man seemed nonplussed by the hostile response, and hunted around in his mind. "I suppose I have...extra bat spleens and whatnot about. It could probably devour those, and be sated." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm sure if I hunted about a bit, I could find a box or a jar or something to keep him in, for the moment."  
  
"I'll have to leave him here," Harry said regretfully. "If I took him back to the dormitory, it would be 'parseltongue' this, and 'Slytherin' that. I wish I could keep him with me," he frowned, looking down into the little pointed face.  
  
This provoked another round of eye rolling by the teacher. "Dear God, Potter, it's a perfectly healthy, independent thamnophis, not your new pet kitten. Let's just find a place to put it, get it fed, and get you out of here. We can deal with finding it a new home tomorrow."  
  
They found a large jar, and deposited the small reptile in his temporary home. Snape managed to locate some stewed slugs, which it ate quite happily, and they left it getting used to its enclosure. Finally, Harry could find no further excuses to stay, and let the professor show him out the door. "Goodnight, sir," he said, striving for his charming best.  
  
"Goodnight," Snape muttered, sounding as prickly as ever. "Keep wary on your way back to your rooms," he added. Before he could turn to go back inside, he found himself with a student attached to him, its arms around his middle. Harry was embracing him. Severus stood rigid for a breath or two, both arms slightly raised. Finally he collected himself enough to lay one hand on the youth's unkempt hair. "All right, all right, enough of that, now," he announced, giving Harry's head a few quick, soft strokes. "Go on, then, go away and find something more constructive to do than affix yourself to your teacher like some sort of misdirected barnacle..."  
  
Harry stepped back and gave him a mischievous grin. "I'll stop by tomorrow morning," he declared, causing Snape to blink at him dubiously. "I have to check and see that my snake's still okay," he explained as he headed down the hall. He laughed at the wry shake of the head the man gave before retreating back inside his chambers. He hummed all the way back to the tower, thinking, 'Kissing in closets and cute little serpents, calling him Severus and then hearing Harry, a snarky old teacher who makes my heart sing! These are a few of my favorite things...'  
  
. ***Chalchas and Shalmaneser are historical figures. Or mythical, depending on how you look at it. You will find them in the bible, and also in John Gill's Exposition of the Entire Bible, and Dwight M. Pratt's Bible Study Reference Guide. A thrill a minute, both of them; now, on to more important things! Yes, yes, more accolades, please! Pass the praise! No, I'm not greedy. I'm just affection-starved. Like Harry, who will, sadly, find himself even more so through the next couple of chapters... Now don't look at me like that! There has to be an obstacle, see, to make the eventual achievements so much sweeter. Now, there will be a little angst, but there shall also be high comedy to balance them out. Because the road to true love never runs smoothly, but bumps and jolts and weaves and batters our hero and, I think, anti-hero about a bit and gives them a few lumps and lessons first. We're getting there, we're just taking the scenic route. Which shall entail scenes of: Harry on the other side of the closet door, if you get my drift, Draco Malfoy's first appearance and cunning plan, other Slytherins to confuse Harry and lead him astray, a little plot here and there, if it fits, and I must tell Devona Wolfe; that thing you are dreading, it shall happen the sixth of May. Or the one after that, depending on how fast I write, and what chapter it ends up in. Trelawney told me. But also I'm the author, and I get to make decisions like that. Plus, yes, we will finally begin to see things from our sweet Severus's POV. So stop nagging, already. Don't worry, even amidst the struggle, there will be exciting sexual tension and magical encounters between Harry and Sev. Well, there would have to be, it's part of being a wizard. But I digress...once again, I urge you; shower me with praise and attention, so I can bask in the glory of earning no money and sneaking onto the web whenever my boss isn't looking...( StarryGazer*** 


	16. Harry Gets a Chance to be REALLY Weird

This was not downloading well. Took me about twenty tries, sorry for the delay, I think they'd been having problems, because I kept getting weird numbers and stuff when I posted. And now the punctuation is all different. I give up!

(Wow. How the heck did this one end up being so long? With only a teeny bit of what I actually meant to put in it, too! I hope you don't mind that it's a bit rambling and pointless...just a couple of scenes stuck in my head that I couldn't stop thinking of, and couldn't not write. I think this means I'm weird, huh? But, at least, with the power of the pen (the kinkiness of the keyboard?) I don't have to be the only one...StarryGazer)  
  
Chapter 19: Harry Gets a Chance to be REALLY Weird.  
  
Harry got up extra early the next day, and was cheerfully knocking on Severus's door before six in the morning. When the man finally answered, a little ragged-looking and bleary eyed, he had to glare and swear a bit at Harry before letting him in. It didn't improve his temper that Harry maintained that same cheeky smile the entire time.  
  
He flopped down into the same chair as the night before and rubbed slightly bloodshot eyes, as Harry cooed and tickled his small pet. Harry'd always been thoroughly annoyed when his Aunt spoke to his cousin in baby- talk, so he knew it would be certain to wake Severus up and get him peppy and snippy. The way Harry liked him. "Who's daddy's ickle wriggly boy?" he murmured, gauging Snape's reaction from the corner of his eye. The man shuddered. "Yes you are! Don't worry, we'll find our baby Sevvie a much nicer little house to sleep in tonight, and I'll get you some branches, and water, and—"  
  
"WHAT did you just call that thing?" Snape demanded.  
  
Harry meandered over and casually slid down to his position the night before. "Hmm? Oh, Baby, I think," he hedged ingenuously. "Yes, isn't that right, my little cutesy wootsie—"  
  
"No. You didn't," Snape insisted. "What did you call it?"  
  
Harry sighed. "I named him Junior," he replied, quite artfully. "Isn't he precious? He—"  
  
"I heard you," the man grated, sounding greatly displeased. "You called him....Sevvie," he spat, cringing when he had to say it aloud.  
  
"Well, yes," Harry responded angelically. He leaned back against the Potion Master's legs again. "I decided to call him Severus Junior. But mostly just Junior for short." He began talking to the snake again, this time in parseltongue, except where he said, perfectly clearly, 'Sevvie,' and 'Junior.'  
  
"Potter. Stop that at once! I will not have my name given to some slimy little worm without my consent, do you hear me?" He gave Harry a prod in the kidney with one of his feet.  
  
"Too late," Harry responded. "I've already told him; he thinks it's his name now. I'm sure we shan't be able to convince him otherwise." He grinned a little, ineffable grin at his teacher's wrath. Well, of course the snake thought it was his name, now, and he would only answer to Junior or Sevvie. But only because Harry had just told him to. "Don't worry so much about it," he added sincerely when the man began to get that worried look in his eye, the one that suggested he was imagining possible consequences. "I'll only ever call him Junior, and I'll probably only ever see him around you, anyways, so no one else will ever hear. And if they did, I should imagine they'd just think I was calling him Harry Potter Junior." He faked another smile at the man, inwardly remembering that he probably wouldn't have children. Not if he really truly decided he was gay, and it was sure looking that way. And certainly not if he eventually wanted to end up with Severus Snape, who undoubtedly did not want children. He hated the things. He was surrounded by them all day, anyways. He was broken from his musings by a particularly loud snort of amusement.  
  
"Gods. Harry Potter, Junior. That's a terrifying thought. Along the lines of 'look out, world, God made two of them.' I tremble in apprehension at what the future could hold." Harry smiled wryly, and the man actually reached out and gave the snake a quick caress on the head with his fingertip. "He's got your eyes, though," Severus pointed out with a mocking air. "Oh, wait, I'm sorry. He's ALL green." He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as though he'd just realized what he was saying. "That's enough nonsense for one morning. Feed the thing and get out of here; I have classes to prepare for."  
  
Harry didn't argue, but neither did he try to hide the pleasure in his eyes. He only said in a casual voice, as they were parting, "He has your nose, though. Oh, wait. He's ALL nose. Well. Yeah, then, I guess he does, doesn't he?" He laughed and ducked the minor curse that Severus sent after him.  
  
Harry half wanted to tell Hermione about recent events, but he couldn't seem to get her alone. Even using S.P.E.W. as an excuse wasn't keeping Ron away, anymore. He told Harry bluntly, "If you can stand to do it, then by crikey, I ought to be man enough to suffer through it with you. I mean; it's not even as though she's your girlfriend." Harry shook his head vehemently, and told Ron not to worry on that count. He said he was happy for him and Hermione, causing Ron to turn his hair colour. It was funny, but for the first time, Harry genuinely meant it.  
  
It was awful doing the S.P.E.W. stuff again, and Ron looked like he was having a tooth drilled. He kept shooting Harry dodgy looks that said, 'By all that's sacred, how can you stand to DO this?' Harry wanted to have pity on him and tell Hermione they wanted to quit, but she looked so happy...He quelled down the urge and tried to think of a clever saying that might actually make people give a damn about house elves. "How about putting something like, 'You have to stand up for those who won't stand up for themselves,' type of thing?" he suggested for the poster Hermione wanted to put up in the common room.  
  
She looked delighted. "Well, needs a bit of work, but that's a very good sentiment, Harry!" she exclaimed encouragingly. "That's just the sort of thing that might get people to look at the situation differently." He smiled wanly at her as Ron suppressed a grimace. Harry had taken advantage of Hermione's friendship enough lately. He'd pretended to do S.P.E.W. stuff with her in the past few weeks; it wouldn't kill him to actually sit through an evening or two of the real thing.  
  
Days were beginning to fly by. Harry knew they weren't, really, it was just that he was enjoying himself, and enjoyment never seems to last long enough. Harry was learning Defense, but he was no longer driven to compete with Hermione. Snape hadn't been making out with HER in a closet, had he? So it must not be brains that he went for. Harry did still apply himself, because he didn't really think Snape went for idiocy, either. And Harry didn't really aspire to be a career moron, anyway. He'd like to be occasionally witty, and surprise Snape with a few well-chosen words or phrases. He liked surprising Snape. And Harry liked his irritability. And his strength. And his power...God, when he let loose a particularly vicious curse, and his eyes blazed, and his whole body was tall and arresting and stiff...made Harry at least one third the same. 

He only wished Snape would kiss him again, notice him again. Ever since that night, Snape had begun to...pull away, a little. He let Harry visit the snake at all hours, it was true, and sometimes he was kinder or more cordial than Harry remembered him being previously, but...well. He didn't let Harry touch him again. He didn't drink while Harry was there. He wouldn't sit in that chair. And whenever Harry made a tentative movement, any sign he might reach out, it became, 'While it has not been...overly odious to put up with your company, Mister Potter, I'm afraid it is time for you to take your leave. I am a busy man, you know.' He always pulled that out, the work. Harry wasn't sure if he was referring to his Potions Master role, or that of the spy, but Harry knew he wasn't to ask. He tried to respect this one thing, because he really did respect it. He hoped to hell Severus knew that. And that Harry appreciated it. Harry felt it was possible the only person who was expected to sacrifice as much as he was, aside from maybe Dumbledore, was Severus Snape. He prayed the man would not have to sacrifice everything.  
  
Harry had been unable to get Hermione alone, and it was unthinkable to approach anyone else about what'd happened—including Snape, he'd made that clear enough, so Harry resorted to writing in the journal. It was starting to feel...less than satisfactory. It wasn't a person; it couldn't give him advice or even sympathy. Still, in light of the fact he had no one else to talk to, he continued writing.' I'm mad about him,' he wrote, 'and it doesn't get any better, it just keeps getting worse and worse. It's like I'm drowning, and all I want is more water...'  
  
The next time Lupin was in town, Harry bit the bullet and went to see him. He never mentioned Severus by name, and he didn't tell the man he was gay, either. He just went on where he'd left off; that he'd a friend that he probably shouldn't be friends with.  
  
"Really, Harry, you need to stop worrying so much about what Ron and Hermione think," Remus advised, looking sage.  
  
Harry wanted to howl with frustration. "That's not...well. That is part of the problem, but the bigger part is that I don't think this person wants to be friends with me. Not really. I mean, I think they're kind of humoring me."  
  
"Now, Harry, you know that's not possible." He gave the boy a kind smile. "Who wouldn't want to be friends with you?"  
  
"Well, let's think," Harry said sarcastically. "I could tick at least a few off my fingers. "Voldemort, he probably won't invite me to his daughter's wedding, if you catch my meaning, and the Malfoys, they're not really crazy about me, either, Cho Chang blames me for Cedric's death, I know she does, and we-elllllll—Severus Snape has hated me from the moment he laid eyes on me." He stared straight at Remus, yearning to hear him say it wasn't true.  
  
Lupin did not look him in the eyes. "Well, Severus Snape is rather a special case, Harry. He's rather intolerant of other people at the best of times and...we really were quite horrible to him, back at school. And you do look strikingly like your father."  
  
Harry'd sort of deflated after that. Like your father. How he used to love hearing that. Before he actually knew anything much about the man. Now it was getting to be another burden. Be better than your father, be as good as your father, be what your father would have wanted you to be. It was just impossible. He knew perfectly well that he couldn't please a dead man, and that, if his father COULD see him, now, pride was not the emotion that rose to mind when Harry thought of how his dad would feel about his crush on Snape. Harry couldn't take it, anymore, and changed the subject, asking how Lupin was holding up, and whether he'd like to play some wizards chess.  
  
He did eventually manage to tell the others about the snake. That wasn't personal, so Ron could know. "...so it had something to do with her wanting to teach Ophi...Opho...Er." 

"Ophiomancy?" Hermione asked brightly, withering his pride just a little. He had so looked forward to being able to say just one word she didn't know, too. 

"Yeah. I guess when I made that mess in detention, He felt me and tried to see what was going on. And when he sensed the snakes, he took one over, but put too much into it or something. Lost control, I guess, and that's what blew up the balls." He was just now getting around to mentioning it, some weeks later. It hadn't seemed important, for some reason. Not as much so as the kiss, anyway, which he didn't really even want to talk about. 

"Hmmm." Hermione had that look in her eyes. "I wonder what he planned on doing once the snake got to you." 

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Snape didn't, either, or wouldn't say. Just prattled on about Ophiomancy, and some bloke named Chalchas, and another called...Shalmaneser? I think. And said, 'The Dark Lord felt you working all that magic, tried to get into the castle, blew up the balls, set a snake on you, and no, I don't know why.' Basically," he amended. 

"Ohhh, he talked about Chachas?" Hermione was going full tilt now. "He was that famous Greek Ophiomancer, they have a picture of him with wings on this gong, I think...Do you know how he supposedly died? No, really, because he supposedly died laughing, about having outlived the prophesied hour of his death. Er. But not by much. Or he just thought he'd outlived it, and didn't wait long enough." 

Ron stared at her. "Died laughing? I'm sure. That would be a really crazy way to go. Where the heck did you read that, anyway? You pick up the strangest facts sometimes, really." 

He looked rather impressed, and Hermione flashed him a wicked little grin. "If you picked up a book sometimes, you might have found it. You'd have liked a lot of the stuff in there. You'll just have to suffer, because I'll not tell you where. But that other guy Snape was talking about, he was an Ophiomancer, too, and the King of Assyria, besides. He..."  
  
Halloween came, and it felt kind of peculiar. Hufflepuff was holding a party. A costume ball, of sorts. Only sixth and seventh years could come, but it was...like, a real social event, one not planned out by adults. Though, once they found out about it, they couldn't leave it well enough alone. After finding that everyone was allowed to come, so there wouldn't be any hurt feelings, the staff had allowed for the party to be held—as long as a teacher was present.  
  
Everyone was going to the party—Ron and Hermione were even going as Lancelot and Guinevere, and Ron'd gotten one of the castle's suits of armor to let him wear it. Which Harry thought profoundly odd, no matter how you looked at it. He had to admit, though, that Hermione looked quite nice, with a fancy old gown, and a garland in her hair. They kept asking if he planned on going, and what he'd go as, but he just couldn't decide.  
  
For one thing, he was sure he'd be the only gay guy at the party. The thought of standing around and drinking punch in the Hufflepuff common room and watching everyone snogging each other—or worse, trying to fend off someone like Ginny or Millicent Bulstrode or someone from snogging him (!) made him break into a sweat. They might not, but you never know. And it wasn't as though Severus would be there to dance with, or even talk to. He was sure he'd be utterly bored.  
  
Ron and Hermione, however, refused to let Harry beg off. They told him he'd have to come, it wouldn't be the same with out him, and on and on until he finally groaned and gave in. "But I don't know what to go as!" he'd whined, secretly hoping it would give him an out.  
  
"Go with Padma Patil, then," Ron told him. "She doesn't know what she wants to be yet, either. You could go as something together—like a donkey. You could be the rear end. The ass of the ass!" he snickered, and Harry punched him lightly in the arm.  
  
Harry didn't ask Padma to the party, but he did ask if she had any ideas what to go as. "I really can't decide," she told him frantically, with only a week left. "I'm going to ask everyone I see today, then tonight I'll just take a deep breath and pick one. If I think of something good, do you want to do it, too? We could go together," she suggested.  
  
"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "I don't really want to go at all, but Ron and Hermione wouldn't leave me alone about it. So I guess I have to, but I haven't a clue what costume to pick."  
  
"There are a few other boys like that," she informed him. "No girls, though, they all know what they're doing. But they said they won't let you into the party if you aren't in costume," she fretted. "Oh, I know! What if we could get a group costume? Then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. If you guys were all alike, you don't have to feel so uncomfortable about dressing up, and you don't have to come up with any creative stuff."  
  
"Yeah, actually, that might not be too bad," Harry agreed, secretly relieved. Going with a group; that would mean he wasn't exactly going with Padma. "What kind of group could we do, though?"  
  
Padma's eyes were glittering. "I'll ask around. Don't worry; I promise I'll have it all figured out by tonight. Will you ask around and see if the other guys want to do it? Look, I'm late for class, just send me a note, all right?" She waved at him as she hurried away. Harry smiled a little. Maybe Halloween wouldn't be so bad.  
  
He was wrong. It was worse than he'd ever anticipated. Padma Patil, by virtue of having asked someone—exactly the wrong person, whoever the hell it was—had made up her mind and gotten her heart set on being Queen Cleopatra. This, in and of itself, was not a problem. Harry thought she'd make a pretty nifty Cleopatra, because of her dark hair and eyes, and had even told her so, when she'd first started explaining. Then she told the boys what they were going to be. Not 'asked' the boys, because that implied they had a choice. The look in her eyes, and the slight feverish cast to her face said that they had better not try refusing, because refusing was not an option and everybody needed at least some teeth left in their mouth. Which was why Harry and the others kept theirs shut.  
  
And why Harry, Ernie Macmillan, and two guys Harry didn't really know very well ended up going to the Hufflepuff Halloween Party as Cleopatra's retinue of Egyptian slaves. Even the word slave was demeaning and horrible and humiliating 'and exciting, or would be if you only belonged to Snape' and Harry felt sick and twisted and very, very embarrassed about it. But not nearly as embarrassed as he ended up feeling about his costume.  
  
All four boys stared at them, when Padma brought them out that night, brandishing them with pride. "I made them myself," she said. They were very well made, but they were still a little...  
  
"Um. A bit short, aren't they?" asked Richard Havenblast, the only Ravenclaw male in the group. He looked vaguely horrified. Padma's eyes narrowed as she lowered the, well, Harry supposed it was supposed to be a tunic or something, but his mind kept calling it a skirt, and raised her wand.  
  
"TOO short, d'you think?" she asked, too sweetly. No one could be that sweet with their eyes so narrow. Ernie nodded, and got a Hacking Hex for his trouble. She hit him with a few other curses; just to be sure she'd made a point. "Put. Them. ON." She glared at them, wand poised and eager. Harry and the others grabbed them and hastily ran to change.  
  
Oh, God. This really was humiliating. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror—he kept thinking he saw an underage, cross-dressing dilly boy. This was the worst thing that ever happened to him. The other guys looked embarrassed, too. Except the Slytherin, Jack something-or-other, who looked as cool as only a Slytherin could look. Which made him seem less a swish than the rest of them, somehow, which was completely unfair. At least the rest of them were as uncomfortable as Harry, and he knew it was probably the worst moment of ALL their lives. Harry knew he could face death with equanimity, now, because he was sure that this was worse, and that nothing could ever be worse than this. Yeah. He was sure of it.  
  
Until Padma brought out the eye-liner.  
  
.( All right, so now I'm guessing some of you are thinking I'm an utter lunatic (which I AM, don't mistake me), and others adore me. Hey, whatever floats your boat. Birds gotta swim, fish gotta fly...er. Strike that. Reverse it. And I gotta write stuff like this. Like the ink is in my blood, or something. Being pumped out by my heart. Uh huh. I've totally reassured you all about my sanity, haven't I? But don't you know that the only normal people are the ones you don't know very well? Which is something Harry is about to discover.... Oh, yeah, praise me. It make it worth not dating, because I don't need physical affection (which would drain me and leave me without the desperate desire to write) I only need you all...Cross-dressing, revelations, and manipulation are about to come up. Then maybe some angst. I never seem to get around to it; it's just not my style. But darn it, I have a cunning plan! Or Draco does, which should lead to the same hysterical end. You know you love me. Say it. And Smile when you say that, Stranger. StarryGazer )


	17. It All Gets a Little Worse, or a Little ...

AUTHORS NOTE: Do not bitch or whine at me about this chapter. I did not write it for you, I wrote it for _me_. And livingwater, so she's the only person whose opinion matters. You truly have no idea how pathetic it is to hear whining about Harry and Snape being somewhat OOC. Do you really think Snape will be shagging Harry in any of J.K.'s future works? I don't think so, so we're already pretty OOC, aren't we? Aside from that, don't take this whole thing so seriously—it was meant as a humor/light romance, not Dr. Zhivago.

I kind of started on the angsty stuff in this chapter. Built a little bit of steam to get where I'm going. Anyway, when I wrote this chapter I thought of livingwater89, who was having a seriously bad day. This was my way of saying; don't worry, pet, we all have days like that. I was having one of those days until I got her e-mail, as a matter of fact. And I've done enough customer service to know that it's the most over-worked, underpaid position you can get. Except for, perhaps, prostitution. And hey, that's customer service, too, right? Um. Sorry. Third margarita, losing the ability to refrain from blurting rude comments or personal information indiscriminately…But, they do make a bad day soooo much better. So make your own, sit back at relax with the next chapter! StarryGazer

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Chapter 20: It All Gets a Little Worse, or a Little Better, Depending on How You See it

Harry and the other guys carried Padma—_Cleopatra_ into the common room on a litter. It was painted gold, cushioned with silk, and very heavy. They enchanted it to be lighter, but Harry rather felt that if he collapsed from the weight it would still be the least of his problems. Sure, like a broken back was worse than walking into a ROOM FULL OF SIXTH AND SEVENTH YEAR STUDENTS, while wearing a skirt, make-up, and a crooked wig. He could feel his face ready to burst into flames. Everyone stared when they made their entrance.

Draco Malfoy had to be picked up off the floor and set on a couch, still overcome by hysterical laughter. "Potter the p-p-pillow-biter!" he exclaimed with glee, gasping for breath. "Oh, God, this is the best thing that's ever happened to me! Someone find Colin Creevey and his camera!"

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Harry replied heatedly.

"Bloody HELL!" Ron exclaimed. "Is that HARRY?!" Harry immediately protested that this was not his idea, only he couldn't get out of it without Padma magically removing some of his more vital organs. Ron recovered a little, and even managed to give Harry a pat on the shoulder, but he still looked really upset.

Hermione just took his wig off, as she said it wasn't the right length of hair for him, and made him look a bit of a twat. Then she grinned and said he looked very sexy. Glam, she called it. Both Harry and Ron were completely taken aback by that. To Harry's utter astonishment, there were other girls at the party who seemed of like mind, and acted quite coyly toward the slaves. Of course, Padma chased them off with her scepter, but it wasn't as though Harry had been particularly interested, anyway. They weren't the sort of people he wished to spend time with. No one here was. There was only one person he wanted to be near, and that man happened to be…

Standing by the punch bowl.

Severus Snape was the chaperone chosen for the party. _Oh, God, merciful God, strike me down now, before he sees me._ Harry wasn't red at all anymore. He was white as sugar, eyes contrasting darkly with his face, even more than they normally would have because of the dramatic make-up. He put one hand to his chest, sure his heart had given up and shut down this time, but his palm told him it was going faster and more forcefully than ever.

And then it rose in his throat, because Severus Snape looked up and saw him. For a moment, the man's face was completely blank. Then the mouth dropped open a little, and the eyebrows rose incredulously, and he began to take on a faint pink tinge. Then he seemed to recollect himself, and his mouth snapped shut, and his face shut down. And that beautiful black, elegant brow rose once more. He looked as though poise was his middle name.

Harry wanted to keel over and die. Whatever happened after tonight, he swore he'd find himself a Time-Turner, and go back and fix this somehow. Only he hadn't, or he'd have known, wouldn't he? Fuck. He'd do it anyway. He tensed as Snape approached him, the most arrogant, malicious smile on his face. He was going to speak to Harry. Harry could imagine the scalding, derisive flood he'd let loose. Fate was a cruel bitch, indeed.

But Snape's eyes went past Harry. The man actually gave a slight bow, well, more an inclination of the head, than anything, but the body followed just a little. "Miss Patil," he said smoothly. "I see you've taken my minor counsel as to the costumes. Might I congratulate you on your good sense and excellent decision-making skills? I almost have the impulse to tell you how you would have thrived in Slytherin." He smiled like a snake, and Harry's blood ran cold.

"Why, thank you, Professor Snape," she replied lazily, "as you can see, I followed your advice to the letter. Oh, hello, Lavender!" She patted the litter beside her, which was being magically held up by Ernie. "Come sit with me. Isn't this party divine?" They broke down into giggles and gossip and other girlish behavior.

"YOU?" Harry croaked at the man. "YOU dressed me like this? How could you DO that to me? You were the one who gave Padma this—this—disgusting, debasing, this, this—"

"Extremely witty, crafty, devious idea? Why yes, I did, Potter. And you might just want to watch your tone. I'm not entirely certain why, but I rather have the urge to be stricter than usual with you." His eyes were very bright, and Harry caught his breath. The man's face was painted with its common smirk.

"I can't believe you would do this to me. You think this is funny, don't you?" Harry accused, and the man laughed softly. "Ohhh…You'll get yours one day, Severus Snape. You'd better just. Just. Look out. I don't care what it takes, I WILL get you back for this." Harry was seething.

Severus yawned at him. "Yes, yes. Dungbombs and the like, I'm sure." He leered at Harry, completely unimpressed.

"Why. Did. You. DO THIS TO ME?" A lot of people turned to look at Harry, who had Snape by his lapels—or would have done, if Snape HAD lapels—and had his angry, snarling face pressed right up into the Potions Masters.

"Oh, really Potter, you are very dull. You're never going to have vengeance, you know. You're neither as evil nor as creative as I am. And as for why…" He leaned over so that his mouth was less than an inch from Harry's ear. "Perhaps it's all just a conspiracy to get you into a skirt." The man sniggered softly. "And maybe next time you'll think twice before instigating explosions in my dungeons." He pulled away and went gliding back to the punch bowl to wait for someone to try to put something other than punch in it. They always did; they were so unoriginal.

Harry fumed. How dare he turn Harry into a walking illustration for 'Slave Boys Monthly?' Growling a little, he stomped his way over to Severus. "Give it back," he demanded.

"Give 'what' back?" the man replied, eyeing Harry's bare legs. They were quite well muscled, must be all the Quidditch. The Hogwarts dress code usually had everyone in flowing robes. While it did allow Severus to flutter and undulate grandly, it often meant that one went for months at a time without seeing more skin than showed on the face, neck, and what bits of wrists, hands or fingers generally managed to poke out of the sleeves of the students. Which was the point, really. They were at an age where temptation was best averted.

"My 'dignity,'" Harry expounded. "I don't care what you have to do, you make it so I don't go home a laughingstock tonight. Is that understood?" He trembled with rage and Severus stood there with a cool countenance, and gave a slight chuckle. "BUGGER YOU, SNAPE!" Harry burst out in quite a loud voice, fists itching. The room went silent.

Snape suddenly stopped laughing, and his eyes narrowed in on Harry. His face was dark and his eyes were smoldering. "Right, Potter." He seemed to be breathing heavily. "You're for it, now." Before Harry could do more than squeak in response, the Potions Master grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out the door.

They were halfway to the dungeons before Harry realized that no one was coming after him. Where were Ron and Hermione? He dimly remembered them having drifted off just after Hermione'd called him glam…maybe they'd gone to find a place to snog or something. In which case, they were well hidden and didn't even know Harry was gone.

"W-What are you going to do to me?" Harry managed to stutter, as Snape practically threw him into the Potions Lab. Harry stumbled, but managed to keep his feet.

"I don't know, Mister Potter. What do you think a proper punishment for one who has over-stepped the bounds of proper student conduct, not to mention risked my neck and his own by behaving with FAR TOO GREAT a familiarity toward his professor and malefactor? Think carefully, Mister Potter. Do you have any idea how many children just witnessed you clutching at me, swearing at me, and demanding expiation, as though you had a right?" Harry winced. Draco Malfoy had been there, watching him rant and rave at Snape. He remembered shouting things like, 'How could you?' and 'I can't believe you would do this to me.' What was Draco to make out of that? Snape was right. "I see you're beginning to take my point," the man added angrily. "Now. How do you think the other students will have expected me to react to that? Hmm? Would Severus Snape—who hates Harry Potter with a venom long known—the terror of Slytherin, the bane of all Hogwarts' students existence, the likeliest candidate in the school to take the Dark Mark, let Harry Potter return from his presence after that performance unscathed?"

"N-no, surely not," Harry admitted. "They'd expect you to rip me to pieces. Very small ones." He swallowed. "W-w. What are we going to do?"

"Turn around, Mister Potter." With a block of ice forming in his stomach, Harry did so. "Place both hands on the desk, Mister Potter." Wow. Snape wasn't going to…er. No. There was another possibility. Perhaps he was so mad he'd actually…surely not! Harry was going on seventeen, nearing manhood! No one would expect him to take something like that, especially since—_THWACK!_ Harry rose up on his toes for a moment, in shock and stinging pain.

"As much as it might insult your dignity, Mister Potter, the combination of social discomfiture and physical distress might just be enough—" _THWACK!_ "—to help you to remember that when we are in a public place, you are to have control over your tongue." _THWACK!_ Harry's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but the pain was not unbearable. He wondered what Snape was hitting him with. Not a paddle, too long and thin, too hard for a whip. He tried to think about it, and nothing else. It wasn't quite intolerable. It wouldn't take long to get that way, but right now it was happening too fast, and the sharp burn that accompanied each blow was quickly followed by tingling numbness. …And accelerated heartbeat, and confusion, and anticipation, and— _THWACK!_ "We are NOT playing a GAME, you stupid child. And if we LOSE," _THWACK!_ "—we DIE." Now the pain was setting in. He wished to God Padma had let him wear pants. There were going to be MARKS from this. "You will NOT forget this lesson. In PUBLIC, I am your ENEMY." _THWACK!_ Harry's whole body seemed to flinch from that one. '_His wand. He's…er…spanking me with his wand,'_ Harry thought in a daze. He bit his lips as hard as he could, trying to concentrate on the one pain instead of the other. And better on the pain than on the…he really wished his tunic weren't quite so short. Snape was going to see— "Now. Until I am sure you won't forget. 'I will not accost my professor in public.'" _THWACK!_ "Your turn, Mister Potter."

"I will not accost my professor in public," Harry rasped. _THWACK!_

"Again."

"I will not accost —"_THWACK!_ "—m-my professor in public." Bloody hell, it was ten times worse when it was unexpected. He tried to brace himself.

"Again, Potter."

"I will not ac—" _THWACK!_ Grunt. "—accost-my-professor-in-public," he managed to wheeze between clenched teeth. He didn't wait for Snape's 'again.' "I will not accost my professor in public." _THWACK!_

"That's more than ten, Mister Potter. Do you think the lesson has been firmly impressed on your…mind, yet?" Harry merely whimpered. "Very well, then. Do not let it happen again." Harry heard the man's steps walking away, and wondered remotely if he was expected to leave now. He let go of the desk, and let his shaking legs slowly collapse under him, until he was kneeling on the floor. It occurred to him that he couldn't very well sit, so he curled up in fetal position, removing his glasses to wipe away a few stray tears. That had bloody-well hurt! The first couple of strikes hadn't been too bad, they were even kind of…but by the end! His had been on fire. He heard a slight noise, and opened his eyes to see a blurry hand holding a glass of something in front of him. "Take it, Potter," Snape's voice instructed. "But start with a small sip."

Harry tried to find a position that would allow him to drink without aggravating his soreness. He put his glasses back on and looked down. There wasn't very much in the glass. He looked up questioningly, but Snape was drinking from his own glass, which had rather more in it. Harry cautiously raised the cup to his lips and took a mouthful. Uck. He swallowed hastily and coughed a little. Gods, liquid fire! He felt the heat melt its way down his throat toward his stomach, the warmth branching out into his chest. First he gets burnt at one end and then at the other! He coughed again, and asked, "What potion was THAT?"

He saw Snape's lips jerk in reflex. "That was no potion, you dolt. Considering your tremendous lack of cultivation, I think perhaps I shouldn't have wasted the good brandy on you." He gave a disparaging sniff and turned his attention back to his own glass.

"Brandy?" Harry repeated, giving the dark amber liquid another consideration. "Really?" he took another sip, careful not to cough this time. It still stung, and he couldn't help but pull a face. Nasty stuff. He swigged another mouthful. Brandy! Well. How do you like that? He'd always wondered what the big deal was about hard liquor. "Brandy. Huh."

"Has anyone ever told you, Potter, that you're…" Snape stared at him for a while, like he couldn't find the word. That was unusual. Harry looked at him expectantly. '_What_?' He wondered. '_Stupid? Obnoxious? Stubborn? Maddening?_' "…irrepressible? I beat the living daylights out of you not ten minutes ago, and now you're quaffing my exceptionally expensive brandy as though it's chocolate milk." He shook his head. He took another large swallow from his own glass, and Harry noticed how much lower the liquid had gotten since he'd started. The man was frowning into it as though the container had been throwing accusations at him.

Harry drained his glass and looked at the bottom, wishing there were more. He felt really warm, now. And it didn't matter if he couldn't sit down for a few days. That had been closer to a sexual fantasy coming true than anything he'd ever experienced. And he wouldn't be thinking this way, he imagined, if not for the brandy. "Professor?" he asked timidly. "May I have a little more?" Snape started, coming out of his brown study. With a wry look, he leaned over and poured some of his drink into Harry's glass. Harry boggled at the unexpected generosity. "Gosh," he said, deeply impressed. "Thanks, Professor!" For no reason Harry could discern, the man winced at this.

He watched Snape pull at the glass again and give a huge sigh. "You do realize this is the end of a brilliant, if misunderstood, career." Harry was mystified by this, and blinked abstracted, young, green eyes at the man. "If the spanking didn't end it, the alcohol certainly will." He stared into space, looking as though he'd been condemned to the gallows.

"Oh!" Harry responded, suddenly understanding. "Oh, no. No one has to know about it. Not as long as you don't want them to," he told Snape anxiously. The man turned to frown at Harry, looking down at him as though he was speaking Mermish, and Harry tried to clarify. "I mean; people will expect you to have punished me. It might be better to say you did, so they. You know."

"Whatever their expectations," Snape retorted contemptuously, "I'm quite certain none of them included my…getting anywhere near…that particular part of your anatomy." He looked away, scowling furiously. "They'll want to hang me from the Whomping Willow, flay me alive, and feed me to one of Hagrid's pets if they find out I did THAT to their beloved little hero." He kicked at his desk a couple of times, muttering, "I'm not entirely certain I won't have deserved it."

"Don't say that!" Harry gasped. Snape couldn't go feeling penitent and vulnerable on him! He wouldn't be Snape if he did that. And anyhow, wasn't that one of the first signs of Armageddon? And who would jeer at Harry, and banter with him, and make him feel normal and abnormal all at the same time? Harry got up and went over to the man. "Don't be like that. You lost your temper. You only do it all the time. I'm not going to tell anyone if you don't want me to." Snape was refusing to look at him, eyes on his shoes. Harry stepped closer, getting right in front of him where he couldn't be ignored. "Stop being such a big baby," he stipulated. "And anyway, I. I. Deserved it. I asked for it, I did." He put his hand lightly on the man's chest and looked up at him, face flushed from the brandy, his body still thriving on the adrenaline from the spanking. Harry licked his lips nervously and added, "You were right to do it. I was practically begging for it."

Snape stared at him for a long while, looking more and more horror-struck. He reached down and took the glass out of Harry's hand. "Out," he ordered. "Right now."

"But—"

"NOW, Mister Potter." Snape pushed him out into the hall. "Tell anyone whatever you want. Only get back to your. Get back to the party, or go back to your rooms, or what have you. Just get out of here. NOW."

When Harry reached Gryffindor tower, he still hadn't figured out what had gone wrong.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Before you review, please see above. Thank you.

I really don't know about me sometimes. I mean; I tend to be just a bit of a prude, and…ahem. Well, I like spankings as much as the next…moving on then. Perhaps we will finally progress in the next chapter. I have pages and pages covered with funny dialogue, and I never seem to get to the point where I can use it. And I must make my audience go where I like; that is, I must make you feel desperate and despairing and then take you to the heights of ecstasy. And not just babble like an idiot, right? Well, in any case, hopefully we will get to my notes next chapter…I have plans, darn it, they should count for something. Anyway, review me like mad people, er, not precisely LIKE mad people, just…you know…just. Be supportive, like West and Xicum and c[R]ud[E]dly, always Devona Wolfe and Flak…keep it coming, it especially helps on difficult days when I feel all beat up and then hear something nice and then. I take up my mighty sword (pen!/keyboard!) and go forth to conquer the world! Or at least to insert some sexual tension into it. Which is even better, in its own special way. More to come! Love you all! StarryGazer


	18. Two Steps Forward, and Three Steps Back ...

All right, all of you who had to act all shocked over the last chapter. There's no need to look at me like I'm some sort of deviant, and anyhow, I think you underestimated the number of margaritas I actually HAD that night. I mean; the chapter was even a bit of a surprise to ME this morning. Not the least of which I actually posted it. This is akin to looking up Peter Forsberg's personal telephone number, calling him up, and confessing my undying devotion to him in a passionate, slurred voice. I don't think I actually did THAT, though. And even if I did, I'm sure I didn't leave my name. I probably couldn't remember it. Er. And anyway, thanks to all but especially Chantelli, livingwater89, and the usual. And most of all to AmZ, for making me come out of a funk and want to write again. On with the story! StarryGazer  
  
Chapter 21: Two Steps Forward, and Three Steps Back; Everybody do the  
Snarry  
  
Harry felt enormously frustrated and troubled the next morning. And hung over. And very sore. And just what the hell did Snape expect him to do about THAT? He couldn't very well go to Madam Pomfrey and say...what? 'Er. I walked into a switch. Backwards. Repeatedly.' Uh-huh. Putting on his jeans was tricky, and he did it in bed, so no one else would get a glimpse of his...injuries.  
  
Strangely enough, what bothered him most about the evening before was the end of it. Why had Snape gone and tossed him out on his ear like that? He thought back, trying to recall the exact moment it had gone really wrong. This was problematic. The whole bloody NIGHT had gone wrong, as far as Harry recalled. Snape had...well, really gone too far, although Harry hadn't minded it as much as he probably should have. Really not nearly as much as he should have. Because hey, it was attention, and time with Snape, and Snape had touched him... 'Oh, my God, I am so completely pathetic,' he thought. 'And probably masochistic, besides.' But at any rate, Snape was ALWAYS losing his temper; it was just part of what made him Snape. Harry even thought he understood why Snape had done it. The man was scared. Really scared, Harry assumed it was all Malfoy...who probably watched the whole thing very closely. But Snape had seemed more frightened, or maybe just rattled, by the end of the night. At which time Harry thought everything was better...well, somewhat better, anyway. Snape HAD seemed worried he would lose his job, which...was possible, although Harry didn't think the Order so well off that they could afford to lose a member over something as trivial as a light caning. It wasn't as though Harry would tell anyone, anyway. Really, who would that embarrass more?  
  
He kept glancing up to scowl at Snape during breakfast, wondering what the man was thinking. What was his problem? First the humiliation of the night, and then the guy has the nerve to ignore him; he wouldn't even let Harry in to feed his snake. Again and again, he replayed events in his head. He'd TOLD Snape he wasn't going to tell anyone. He'd told Snape that everyone would have expected there to be some kind of retribution anyway. He'd even told Snape he'd DESERVED it, and—did he really say that? No, that's stupid; that made it sound like—he glanced again at the man, who was awkwardly avoiding his eyes. Oh. Dear God, so he HAD said that. No wonder the man was so ill at ease. And Snape had taken it the wrong way. Harry sighed and banged his head on the table a couple of times. Why did he have to be so brainless?  
  
"Oy," Ron sat down next to him. "What's for eating? I'm famished." He dug into breakfast with gusto, not noticing that Harry was repeatedly smacking his forehead against the table. "I heard you got into trouble last night after we'd left," he said, stuffing some eggs in his mouth. "Honestly, can't take you anywhere."  
  
"Where's Hermione?"  
  
"Still asleep. Most of the girls aren't up yet. Too busy TALKING, I reckon. Do they ever want to do anything else?"  
  
"I don't know," Harry replied archly. "Do they?" Ron's ears went pink, and he pretended to concentrate on his food.  
  
The next several days were extraordinarily strained in detention. Every time Snape looked at him, Harry turned pink, causing Snape to look cross. Both of them tried valiantly to pretend nothing had happened. Harry wasn't sure it was working; both Ron had Hermione had been shooting him quizzical looks. Hermione actually trapped Harry one day, and tried to get him to talk about it.  
  
"Really, Harry, you're both acting so odd! I know something's up. You haven't been this overwrought since the two of you had that little spat. And you made up about that ages ago, so what is it?"  
  
Harry hemmed and hawed. "It wasn't—that wasn't a SPAT! He was just. He was more abusive than ever that night, and I got sick of it. That was all. And anyway, eventually he apologized, and it was no big deal, but it wasn't a SPAT. And besides, nothing is up. I just said something stupid to him on Halloween, and he took it the wrong way, that's all. And I don't want to talk about it!" He really didn't.  
  
"If you don't want to talk to me about it, that's fine," Hermione told him. "But you really ought to talk to him. Real Gryffindors are brave enough to talk about their feelings," she informed him goadingly. He gave her a withering look.  
  
Which was why he was somewhat startled to find himself standing in front of Snape's desk the next night, after the others had left. Snape refused to look at him. "Did you have a question regarding the Resiliency Spell, Potter?" he asked, shuffling through some papers.  
  
"No, sir," Harry replied unhappily. He really didn't want to do this, but he didn't want for the two of them to be uncomfortable around each other all the time, either. "I kind of needed to talk to you. About what happened." Snape's head snapped up, and he glared at Harry fiercely. Harry ignored him, and plowed on. "You see, I didn't really mean to say that I DESERVED it, as such, just that. That people would think I sort of did, and that you'd given me ample warning about how I was supposed to be careful, and all that. I didn't mean that I deserved it in the sense that I wanted it, or anything like that. And. Um. I'm quite happy to pretend the whole thing never happened if you are. I mean; I want things to be normal again. As normal as they ever could be, considering they've never been. I just didn't want you thinking I was some kind of sicko, that's all."  
  
Snape took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I see. Well. I too would be more than satisfied if the subject was completely banned from this moment forward. I trust that will be all? Good. Then you can stop blathering on and haranguing me like an abnormally large and ungainly gnat, and go about your business." Harry, relieved to have gotten it over with, started for the door. "And oh, Potter?" Snape added. "Last night was the third time you failed my test on Evasive Enchantments. Tomorrow we shall try again, and if you are inclined to make it a fourth, keep in mind that you will deeply regret it." The sadistic glint was back in the man's eyes, and Harry wiped his palms on his robe.  
  
"What are you going to do if I do fail again?" Harry asked him in trepidation.  
  
Snape shrugged languidly. "I don't know yet. I'm sure I'll think of something." Harry went pink again, but this time, Severus just smiled evilly.  
  
Potions class was going again, and Harry thought he rather liked it. He still wasn't any good at the subject, but it meant he got to see Snape twice a day. Of course, the earlier class was spent with Snape calling him the most offensive names he could come up with, and making as many wounding remarks as he could, but Harry could live with that. It did irk him that he had to put up with the Slytherins making personal remarks, as well, and calling him things like the Mascara Fairy, and the Gryffindor Whore. He hated them all. Except, he supposed, Jack, who acted like the whole thing was boring and couldn't be bothered, and Blaise Zabini, who actually winked at Harry once. Which astonished Harry, although when he thought about it, it really shouldn't have. Everybody knew about Blaise Zabini.  
  
And in detention, or the other class, as Harry thought of it, Snape was totally normal. This meant that he still sometimes insulted Harry or made cutting remarks, but at least Harry knew he wasn't doing it because he had to. When Harry passed Snape's test in the Forest with ease the next night, that eyebrow almost seemed impressed. And Severus actually gave him a sincere smile. The professor sent Ron and Hermione ahead to the castle while he waited for Harry to gather his things. "Well. For a supposed flaming shirtlifter, I guess that was an adequate performance." Harry trailed behind, not knowing whether to be pleased with the approval, or just exasperated by the insult. He struggled with the dilemma until he heard Severus's voice, barely carried to Harry's ears by a sigh that wafted back on the breeze. "Ten points to Gryffindor...Good show, Harry. Good show, indeed." Harry had to swallow the bubble of merriment that welled up inside of him. He knew if he called out, 'I'm sorry, what?' Severus would merely give him a grouchy look and equally mumpish reply. But that was all right. He held in a breath for a long period.  
  
"I'm sorry, what?"  
  
Severus turned to give Harry an 'I know perfectly well you heard me' vulture-like scowl. "I said, 'If the shuddersome, tedious, hopeless task of teaching you three malignant little miscreations doesn't put me in St. Mungo's by the end of it all, your persistence in pretending you have suddenly developed a hearing problem of unknown origin will. And quit grinning at me like that, you tiresome whelp!'" For all his harsh words, he managed to throw a small, laconic smile over his shoulder to the boy.  
  
Harry threw back his head and let his euphoric peals of laughter carried them into the castle.  
  
The next night, Harry, Ron and Hermione met outside Snape's dungeon only to find a blank parchment pinned to the door. They took it down and inspected it closely, but could make nothing of it.  
  
"Perhaps it's meant to be a test," Hermione suggested reasonably. This seemed promising, as Snape seemed to be quite fond of the things lately, but it didn't help them figure out what to do with it. They tried revealing spells, discerning charms, and even discussed breaking into the office to find a Perceptibility Potion, before deciding it was unlikely Snape would do anything that would require them to break into his office.  
  
It was only after having passed the paper around several times, and tried every spell they could think of on it, that Ron remembered the Marauder's Map. Unfortunately, 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good' had only two effects, and those were to shoot angry red sparks at the person who said the phrase, and then spell out, 'Don't be an IDIOT.' Which, Hermione pointed out, pretty much summed up how Snape probably felt about the map and its makers. However, this led Harry to describe what had happened when Snape first came across the supposedly blank map. Hermione, as the best student of the group, took the parchment and tried everything Harry remembered, but nothing worked.  
  
Rather pessimistically, Harry repeated them, poking the paper with his wand, as Hermione and Ron argued about what to do next. "I don't care if it IS a test," Ron was telling her wearily, "I'm TIRED and I could use just one night without Professor de Sade's contribution. Let's just give up and—"  
  
He broke off when Harry, who had just muttered, "Harry Potter, student of this school, er...commands you to reveal the information you conceal," suddenly saw ink spreading and filigreeing its way across the paper. "Hey, you guys! Look!" Ron and Hermione crowded close, reading over Harry's shoulders.  
  
'Potter, if you've managed to get even this far, I'm frankly amazed. And if you remembered this much, perhaps your Quidditch-packed, underused mind might just be able to dredge up the person I called on when it didn't work. Much good that it did me, I must add. You'll be going to see him tonight. He will be staying at Hogwarts for a short while; I've no doubt you know where to find him.  
I probably won't be back for at least the next couple of nights. This will not be a holiday. I cannot countenance you learning absolutely nothing of value for defense during this time. That is why I let that woe- begotten werewolf talk me into letting him take over your detention for the next few days. As a special treat, the flea-ridden pillock will watch over you and give you DADA lessons. Be careful, he doesn't know about our classes. The idiot truly believes this was all his idea.  
Don't even bother to pretend you aren't thrilled to have him instead of me. I can only imagine the joy you feel at my absence. Get Granger to find a subtle way of requesting that Lupin teach you relaying spells and energy amplifying charms. I will expect you to have grasped some way of putting the two together to make one adapted spell by the time I return.  
  
Signed,  
  
Your Considerably Skeptical Professor  
  
P.S. Potter: The key to my rooms is in your desk in the Transfiguration classroom. Be sure to feed that bloody snake. I do not fancy the notion to coming home to find that my chambers smell of rotting reptile.  
  
'In the next chapter, Harry shall fret, Devona Wolfe's fear will (finally) come to pass (yeah, finally, as though she's been looking forward to it or something) and the confrontation will occur. Which will spin out and lead to delinquency, Draco, and depredation. And, due to this, we will also see Snape's POV. Which is both more and less incensed than you might expect. My wrists are killing me (damn carpal tunnel) so I'm going more slowly. I've also been drawing like a maniac. I did several versions of Lupin this weekend, all of which are at (purposely misspelled) www. geocities.com /foppagal/ index. html. I love scruffy guys. I also like the word scruffy. Say it a few times out loud, preferably in public, where people in suits can give you odd looks. C'mon, it's funny. Then tell them the Congressional Committee of Funny Words is taking a poll: which is more amusing when said repeatedly, 'scruffy' or 'Rumsfeld?' Yeah, okay...sorry. Off to dream of Lupin, particularly Ralph Fiennes as Lupin as at www. Frodis.net /potter/ shrine/ remus.html. Sigh. Talk about sweet dreams. And maybe I'll dream up some more for the fanfic, eh? Cheers! StarryGazer' 


	19. Stand By Your Snape

(To Chantelli, who could sympathize with Harry this chapter, and shiroioyul44, thanks so much, I'm glad you get Harry's motivation; 'good show' was kind of meant as ambiguous for now, we'll get more when we get old Snapie's POV, and love to taligator (you get the underlying sentiment of Snape! : D you wouldn't believe how many people don't) and cheers to Karuri and livingwater89 and all! Bloody Carpal Tunnel is freaking killing me. Plus, I was driving home the other night during a rainstorm, and I got attacked by this moth—twice! And I had to pull over and open all my doors and windows and whack at my dashboard with a stick, trying to convince the hellish insect to come out of the vent. Which it didn't. (Shudders.) So by the time I got home I was soaked and traumatized and my head cold came back full-force, which is why it took so long to write this chapter. In which that thing Devona Wolfe dreaded eventually comes to pass (she guessed the what, but does she know the who?) and we all spend a bit of time pining for our favorite sharp-tongued spy. I used some British words and phrases in this one (I usually do) and thought it might be beneficial if I added a little guide at the bottom. Just so you know what I'm talking about. Now. Drum-roll please....StarryGazer)  
  
Chapter 22: Stand By Your Snape  
  
"Oh, oh, oh, this is bloody banging,1 this is!" Ron was shouting excitedly. Hermione threw Harry a nervous look as she tried to support Ron's enthusiasm. "I can't believe it! I absofuckinglutely cannot believe it! We get rid of Snape and get to start up with Lupin again, all in the same night! And he won't try to hex out heads off every time we round a corner, either! And I won't go to sleep at night wondering if he cursed my quill when my back was turned, or if he's planning on selling me to the Death Eaters tomorrow, or..."  
  
Harry was barely listening. Death Eaters. Yes. That would be why Snape was gone. He'd wondered, dimly, when they would next call him up. He wished Severus had warned him; sent him a note, hauled him out of bed to tell him, given Dumbledore a message—ANYTHING to get him prepared. Oh. God. Harry was turned from Ron, trying to hide his white face.  
  
He trailed after the others, staunchly ignoring Hermione's looks of concern. He didn't need pity or sympathy right now. He needed some goddamn information. He needed the truth. He needed Severus back. Why the hell was Severus doing this, anyway? He'd started spying, presumably, before Harry was even born. He heard Albus's ominous tones echoing in his head, 'Great personal risk...great personal risk...' Risk to what? His life, obviously. What was he trying to compensate for? It must have been worse than what Harry's father had done to him, in order to make him go to such lengths. Killed people. It was something that had hovered on the edge of Harry's consciousness since he'd discovered Snape had turned from one side to the other. He'd probably killed people. Lots of them, or in horrible ways, or something to make him feel so filthy and corrupt that he could never make up for it, but spend the rest of his life trying. Poor Snape. God. That explained a lot about him.  
  
Harry had been inferring quite a bit, from whatever memories he'd accessed during the first Occlumency sessions, and from the man's personality, and from the necessary actions he'd assumed a spy would have to take. Snape. Severus Snape. He ticked off what he thought he knew about the Potions Master in his head; His father was not a nice man. He could have been like Uncle Vernon, or he could have been worse. He could have been physically abusive. And since Severus Snape was not the Boy Who Lived, crucial to the eventual downfall of Voldemort, no one ever intervened; no one ever saved him. His mother was weak. Could not stand up for herself; could not stand up for Severus. There was at least one other female in his life that was scornful and cruel. And then he'd come to Hogwarts, and instead of finding the haven and home that Harry'd found; he'd discovered James Potter and Sirius Black. And what they'd put him through was enough to make anyone consider choosing the opposite side. Voldemort's side had probably seemed the kind, decent side at first. God. Poor Severus.  
  
Harry tried to return Remus's smile when they arrived at his chambers. Remus looked so good; so happy to have a chance to be with them again. It twisted a knife of guilt in Harry's gut. He WAS happy to see the werewolf. He just would have been happier to see Severus. Alive, and whole, and sound. Where was he? What was he doing? Did he even care that Harry was going insane, wondering about him?  
  
Remus brought them into his den, which was filled with surprisingly colorful and overstuffed furniture. Harry only wondered a little. Why bother questioning it, and, at any rate, Remus deserved it if anyone did. He flopped out on a settee, knowing everyone was looking at him a little strangely. Harry managed to roll over onto his side and give Remus a bitter smile.  
  
"So." Hermione broke in with a desperately cheerful demeanor. "I want to know all about relaying spells and amplifying charms, and could we put them together to make one spell?" Everyone stared at her. Harry felt his mouth drop open. 'Get Granger to find a subtle way of'.... Jesus W. Churchill Christ.  
  
It did distract Remus, though. "Well, what an interesting notion! Really, Hermione, ten points to Gryffindor, a very fascinating and complex idea...what were you hoping to achieve with a spell that combined the two?"  
  
Hermione just shrugged, trying to look charming and intelligent and not at all as though she were just trying to divert attention from Harry's unreasonably disconsolate mood. "I. Just that—we. Um." She cast a glance at Ron, who was not known for his quick thinking under pressure.  
  
"Snape said something about it, and how we could never possibly hope to do it ourselves," he responded immediately, looking sure of himself. "And he's an arse, see. So we have to prove him wrong, if we can." Hermione looked galled at this, but Lupin only laughed.  
  
"Yes, that is one of Severus's more well-used methods of getting a student to take an interest in something—by implying that they could not achieve it. Well...I suppose there are a number of things one could do with such a spell. But nothing powerful...Odd, that. You could, if in need, cast a spell AWAY from yourself, amplifying it en route, so that it only became noticeable once it reached its destination and truly 'went off.' Or, you could amplify a spell, drawing attention to yourself, and then channel it somewhere else, making it look as though two people had cast it, if the echo came long enough after..."  
  
Harry loved Lupin. Lupin was his friend. Harry would have been more than happy to learn from the man under other circumstances. As it was, it was all he could do to stay interested until 'class' was over. And keep himself from wringing the jovial werewolf's neck. How COULD he be happy, when Snape was probably in mortal peril, anyhow? Harry debated staying behind and asking Lupin what Snape was doing, but when he paused at the door, his intentions must have been written across his face. Remus looked shifty, and forestalled the youth, saying, "I'll see you tomorrow. Need to get to sleep. All right, Harry?" Then the man quickly shut the door in his face. He didn't slam it, but he did close it very firmly.  
  
What could Harry say to that? So he left. Harry went with the others back to their rooms, and then he crawled back into bed, and listened to Ron prattle on about, 'right blinding2 Lupin,' and how they would all 'have it large, class would be the dog's bollocks,3' and so on and so on, until Harry turned round and yelled at him. And Dean and Seamus and Neville all awoke, and wanted to know what the fuss was about. Ron immediately told them that Lupin was the bitching-est teacher ever, and he'd pound anyone who said he wasn't. This caused Seamus to dissolve into snickers and Dean to inform Ron that he'd turned into a 'bunny boiler4, with a bunny loving5 girlfriend.' Which caused Ron to tackle Dean, and turn the whole room into a brawl. Seamus tried to pull Ron off of the taller boy, while Neville yanked on Seamus's arm and moaned about how much trouble they were all going to be in. Ron and Dean scrabbled and thumped each other, both of them trying to outdo the other with more creative and filthier insults.  
  
Harry gave up and got out of bed, hoping to find somewhere peaceful. He ended up at the Astronomy Tower (which, after a couple of weeks of being treated with Snape's Anti-Repellant Potion, was no where near as popular any more) where he sat with the invisibility cloak wrapped around him more for warmth than protection. With a loud sigh, he took out his ambivalent- face-plagued journal and began to write. This was tricky, because he had to do Lumos with one hand while trying to write with the other, and stop sporadically to push his glasses back up his nose, but after a while he stopped noticing, as he became absorbed in his thoughts.  
  
'Oh, God, where is he? What is he having to do? Is he safe? Is he far away? Could he leave or is he restrained? I know who he's with, but that's all I know, and that knowledge is hardly a great comfort. Is he even alive? Did he die not knowing how I felt about him? Worse, did he die thinking we all hated him, that the rest of the world would be glad of his departure, and never know what he'd done for them? Oh, shit, I have too many questions and absolutely no answers! He isn't dead; he can't be. Wouldn't I have felt something in my scar if He killed him?'  
  
Harry sat back for a few moments, biting his lip. He looked out into the endless night above him. He watched the glistening stars that were reflected on his glasses, as they made their slow journey across the sky. It all felt so big and empty and lonely. He bent his head and returned to the journal.  
  
'If I lost him, too, I don't know what I'd do. It would be worse than anything. I'm not sure why; maybe it's worse, in a way, to lose an enemy than a friend. I mean; you'll fight with your friends sometimes, and now and then they even let you down. An enemy never does that; an enemy never changes. If nothing else, they provide stability...except that he HAS changed. And so have I. He pretends to be awful and cruel and cold, and he even is, a little, but there's so much more to him than that. He can be funny, and clever, and even engaging...and human. I enjoy being insulted by him more than I did kissing Cho. And I enjoyed kissing him more than I ever thought I could enjoy anything. And I think he liked it, too. He WAS kissing me back, however softly. And I could swear I felt his fingers stroking the tips of my hair. And it was unbelievable, and to think that it might not ever happen again!  
  
'Oh, if Voldemort hurts him, I will so completely take him down! If he thought I was a threat before, wait until he sees me now. If he thinks I'm just going to stand by and watch—I WILL fulfill that prophecy, I'll just fulfill the FUCK out of that prophecy, and I'll—'  
  
Harry broke off, chest heaving, and one droplet of searing emotion splashed on the page, bringing him back to reality. He took a couple of calming breaths and raised his quill again.  
  
'He's already taken too much from me; I won't let him have this, too. This is too important. It's all changed and grown and intensified; our whole relationship has been revolutionized. The picture is more than just its components; it's not just sarcasm and threats and flirting. It's not just Defense Against the Dark Arts, and arguments, and getting him to let his guard down and actually enjoy my company. He's important. He's brilliant, and brave, and just...Snape. And he's personal. He's mine. I won't let Voldemort have him. I don't care what that means.  
  
Harry shivered and pulled his cloak around his shoulders more securely. Snape was coming back from this; he had to. And Harry was going to put every effort into learning whatever he might need to defeat Voldemort. He couldn't go through this again, this worry and fear and loneliness. Snape WAS important. Important to Harry, at least. Harry thought about how his feelings toward the man had changed so much over the past months; from that concentrated, petty resentment that had burned in his stomach, to this overwhelming inferno of desire, admiration and fondness, almost as though Harry had a phoenix being reborn in his heart. When they had kissed in the closet, Harry felt like THIS was what life was meant for; and this was more than a phase or an urge. This feeling was sweeping up everything else; all the helpless rage, the hopeless fear, the bitter grief. The whole world could go out like an ember, and Harry wouldn't care. This was worth everything. He closed his eyes and savored the memory of the feeling, before turning to the book again.  
  
'I think I'm falling in love with Severus Snape...'  
  
When Harry went back indoors, he had no intention of rejoining his fellow Gryffindors in their entertaining 'difference of opinion.' He knew where to find a key, and he knew how to use it.  
  
Harry spent the next couple of nights in Snape's chambers, exploring them and playing with his snake, who greatly enjoyed the attention and the freedom to roam. Harry never touched the man's liquor, and he tried not to pry...too much, into the Potion Master's private world. He had a shrewd idea that the man would not forgive Harry if he delved too deeply into Snape's personal things. Besides, he knew every nasty hex invented, and if Harry poked his nose in the wrong place, it would be a case of curiosity killed the clod. He flipped through a few books (and wow! the curses and counter- curses he found) and poked and prodded in a few drawers, but he tried to control himself, and mostly limited his tour to the study, which he was already allowed in, and Snape's bedroom. And, even then, Harry didn't really investigate the bedroom, he only investigated the bed. Which was rather larger than he thought it'd be, framed by dark wood, and, if one really got their face up close to the fabric, smelled of its possessor. It would have no problem sleeping two people.  
  
Harry thought it was the only thing that kept him sane enough to wait for the man to return. During the day, he argued quietly with Ron, shared tense smiles with Hermione, and generally snapped at anyone that said two words to him. He couldn't help it. They'd managed to learn a fair few things from Lupin, and had several, awkward, but usable spells cobbled together out of the relaying spells and amplifying charms. Harry paid close attention to what Lupin taught them; 'Medio Ponerus,' which let several people get a view from one person's scrying mirror, 'Fluminus Exoculavi,' to blind your enemy, and, Ron's favorite, 'Vulnuseris Aspere,' which pummeled and lashed one's opponent. Ron gave a crooked grin and waggled his eyebrows whenever it was mentioned, and always had to say, 'the dog's bloody bollocks' as though it was the coolest thing known to man. And Harry always felt a little cheered by this, because Ron's keenness was infectious. Sometimes Lupin would tell Harry something about his father, or make a joke, and Harry would grin and everything would be normal, for about a minute. Then the guilt would set in, and Harry would work at being miserable, and Hermione would pat him on the shoulder. And Ron would say, 'I never, NEVER would have thought I'd be bloody looking forward to that greasy git's return, just because my best mate's decided to develop at least six new personalities—and all of them tetchy!— because his horrid hero isn't here!'  
  
And afterward, Harry would return to Snape's chambers—which Hermione probably didn't know and Ron pretended wasn't happening—and crawl into the man's bed, and let Junior wrap himself around his wrist, and write long, anguished entries in his journal, and sometimes even sleep a little. And he'd hiss all his woes to the little snake, who could hardly comprehend, but at least never judged him. And he'd envelop himself in Severus's bedclothes, and try to draw the Potion Master's scent from them, and pretend he was there, too.  
  
By Friday, Harry thought he was going to lose it. He was considering going to Dumbledore and throwing a big, hysterical fit—and then himself, at the man's feet—and beg to know where Severus was, and what he was doing. The only thing that stopped him were the Fidelus charms. And the fact that Snape didn't want Dumbledore to know—although Harry thought it was a good bet that Dumbledore already knew, because that was just his thing, his—his shtick. Some people have a certain look, some people use a certain phrase all the time, and some people were omniscient. And when Ron and Hermione slipped out for their marathon Saturday snogging session, Harry was going to do something. Go to Dumbledore. He felt sure that if he pretended he was just going to talk about something else, the charms would at least let him get near enough that Dumbledore saw the pleading look in Harry's eyes, and would take pity on him.  
  
He might have done it, too, if he'd had to endure the terrible suspense for much longer. He let loose some of his pent-up energy on Justin Finch-Fletchley after Herbology. "What do you MEAN, my tie's all crooked!? Your FACE is about to be crooked, you lousy, good-for-nothing—!"he was screaming, when Hermione caught his sleeve and distracted him with a big grin. Harry did a double take, momentarily confused.  
  
Then Hermione leaned over and whispered in his ear: "Someone's been complaining to Lupin that we were let out of detention early every night, and we're going to be kept twice as late as usual all next week to make up for being spoiled. He's back!"  
  
Harry ditched his next class and went straight down to Snape's chambers. Whose door would NOT open, via key, 'Alohomora,' or good old fashioned, aggravated kicks. Finally, after Harry stood and yelled in the hallway for about a minute, the door cracked open infinitesimally, and he heard the Potion's Master hiss, "Cease that infernal racket this very instant, you inconsiderate twat!" Harry threw himself at the door, scuffling to get in, but the door would not budge from that minuscule slit.  
  
"Please let me in," Harry begged, not caring about pride. "Please, please, please. Let me in, let me help, you need me, you NEED me—"  
  
"I most certainly do NOT," came the hot response. "Go away. I need my rest. And tell your little friends that there is to be no class tonight. I haven't the energy, and that gullible, leg-humping werewolf is gone. So unless you want detention with Filch, I suggest you leave. Now."  
  
"LEG-HUMPING?!" Harry cried, his face halted in a rictus of disgust. "He—he NEVER—"  
  
"Of course he didn't, you young simpleton. You're BOTH utterly gullible. God, even the least considered, most casually flung out slur is enough to send you into paroxysms of indignation. Pathetic. Now, GO AWAY." The slit began to disappear, taking all of Harry's aspirations with it.  
  
"I was so worried about you," the boy choked out brokenly. The door paused, as if considering.  
  
"Mm-hmm. Try having a little trust in those far wiser, cannier, older, warier and in every other way just overall superior to you, next time, Potter. While not invincible, I AM frightfully experienced at this, you know." A hand slipped out the opening and deftly traced Harry's jaw before being withdrawn. "Go away, Harry. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
Snape still wasn't in classes the next day, and they found another note telling them to take the night off. Ron looked at Hermione with a silly smile, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Weeeeell, me china," Ron addressed Harry, "what d'you say to entertaining yourself tonight? Your evil idol has returned, back by popular demand, so I expect you'll be wanting to bother him until he tells you the whole story? Meanwhile, I think the Astronomy Tower is feeling particularly deserted at the mo, so..." (6)  
  
Harry laughed. "Go on, then, but don't get caught again," he advised them. "One more detention and we'll still be serving them after we've officially graduated." With a wave, he bid them goodbye and made his way to the dungeons.  
  
He was surprised to find the door unlocked, and not even completely closed, so that it swung in at his touch. Having been trained by Snape, he went right into 'distrustful guerrilla-fighter' mode. He slipped his wand out, and invoked the Blurring Charm he'd cast on his watch. Which had caused it to stop working, ruining the second watch he'd owned since coming to Hogwarts. Walking lightly, he crept along the hallway toward the Study, from which a soft light emanated.  
  
The door to the room was mostly closed, and Harry craned his neck left and right, attempting to see beyond the small area that showed through the opening. Nothing to see, except a patch of floor and the bookcase behind it. Oh, hell. He didn't know WHAT to do. He listened for a while, but heard nothing but a crackling fire. And then a clink. A clink! He'd heard a clink! Great! Now what the sodding hell did that mean? He let out a tiny sigh, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Snape say, "You might as well come in, Potter. It's hardly like you to stand about for hours, peering into other people's private chambers. Unless you've developed some kind of voyeurism in my absence."  
  
Harry slowly opened the door and gave the man an awkward look. "Er. Sorry." Snape was standing, looking elegant as always, his back to the firelight. He held a snifter in his long, graceful fingers, although only a taste of brandy still remained in the bottom of the glass. Severus was standing in front of his chair, looking very cavalier in a black and silver satin lounge jacket, and doing that thing with his eyebrow again. He opened his mouth, and Harry just knew he was going to say SOMETHING snarky; something about Harry standing there eyeballing him, mouth slightly open, like a complete something-or-other-ostentatious-sounding idiot.  
  
"Well. I can hardly comprehend why you are standing there with a face like an exceptionally devout Anglican Evangelical upon first entering the kingdom of heaven and laying eyes on your Saviour." He heaved a large sigh and drained his glass. "Still, I cannot admit I am unworthy of it." The man tossed his head and smirked, and Harry found his legs, if not his voice.  
  
He pounced. Severus, taken off guard again, was slammed backward and, as his legs hit the front of his chair, he collapsed into it. For all of a few moments, Snape looked struck dumb to find himself in this position, with Harry atop his knees, arms around his neck, and smiling brilliantly all the while. Severus blinked a couple of times. After some sort of internal struggle, he seemed to master himself enough to scowl and say, "Really, Potter, it is a complete mystification to me why you have the inexorable compulsion to launch yourself at me periodically. It is a most disturbing habit you seem to have developed, and one that must be broken. These animalistic tendencies of yours are not going to be countenanced by anyone in polite society. I suppose it is fortunate, then, that you are in contact with next to no one in polite society." He sniffed belittlingly.  
  
Harry grin only broadened. "I dunno. Could be a new fashion. I'm The Boy Who Lived, right? I'm sure that if I made a hobby of leaping on Potions Masters and parking myself on their laps, pretty soon EVERYONE would be doing it."  
  
Severus pursed his lips. "Which would NOT be an improvement." He unwound Harry's arms and pushed the boy toward the floor. "Vacate said lap this moment, if you would. Dealing with your obnoxious high spirits requires more than one glass of liquid intoxicant." He moved smoothly to get himself another drink, and returned to find Harry occupying his chair. "I think you may have forgotten the hierarchy in my chambers, and the privileges and services that accompany our divergent ranks." When Harry looked blankly at him, Severus sighed hugely and pointed. "Floor. Now. The chair is mine. Stay off of it. Understood?" He rolled his eyes and Harry slid out of the chair and bowed deeply.  
  
"Is that all? Should I prostrate myself before the King of Condescension, as well?" He gave the man a playful smile, and pretended not to notice the dark shadows under Severus's eyes, or how he seemed thinner and paler and more worn than ever. For a man whose very substance was glued together by dignity and pride, Harry felt it was probably better to approach the subject delicately, if at all. He DID want to know what had happened, but at the same time, he was glad just to be able to return to the man's presence. He deliberated internally, watching the Potions Master's lips as they touched the rim of the glass.  
  
"So, you insignificant spawn of gaucherie, tell me how your riveting classes with that hare-brained hairball went. I'm sure they were just splendid, with biscuits and tea and terrifically irrelevant conversations. Is it going to take me years to undo the damage? Did you manage to get anything whatever from amplifying charms and revealing spells, or was the whole experience a phenomenal waste of everyone's time?"  
  
"Well," Harry responded readily, snuggling up against the man's legs, "it WAS the most glorious experience of my young life, bar none. The biscuits were unsurpassed, and the small talk was, in a word, divine. I can't think of a more delightful circumstance than sitting around while Ron and Hermione make cow-eyes at each other, listening to Lupin blather on about how much fun my dad was, and trying to concentrate on learning the kinds of spells that might just save my life, if not the world, all while you're out gallivanting with the Manslaughter Mob, doing God-knows-what while I go crazy doing fuck-all and worrying myself sick over you. Yes, a swell time was had by all," Harry finished sourly. (7)  
  
Snape gave him a flick upside the ear, causing him to yelp. "Sarcasm does NOT become you. Unappreciative, snot-nosed reprobate," he added fondly, twisting the youth's hair around his finger.  
  
Harry smiled and yawned. "We played around with amplifying charms and such a little bit, although I must say Hermione was disgracefully less subtle about it than you might have suspected. But we did learn how to cast a spell, shoot it off in another direction, and set off and amplify another spell once it got there. We tried it with a few spells, but they all had to be—what'd you call them? I think Remus said they were...corporeal? Nah...they were...something like that."  
  
"Tangible," Severus supplemented, sounding interested, and maybe just a tad bit impressed. "The only spells that will be of use when both sent out and amplified are the Tangible Thaumaturgics. They must be seen, heard, felt or the like in order to be effective."  
  
"Why?" Harry murmured, running his hand lightly over the silk fabric on the man's leg. He blinked sleepily, trying to hide his exhaustion. Once again, he found himself coming off of an emotional high, and physically ready to shut down.  
  
"I think that can wait until class, tomorrow," Severus informed him, prodding Harry with his foot. "Up you get; you're not having a lie-down on my Study room carpet."  
  
"Mmph," Harry groaned softly, unwilling to move. "Could kip8 in your bed," he suggested in a mumble. "Wouldn't kill you to let me stay."  
  
"Ha. I suppose you've never heard of death by lynch mob? Because that's exactly what would happen to me if anyone ever found you in my bed. Now depart my quarters, before the pitchfork-bearing, torch-brandishing peasants beat down my door to rescue you from my evil clutches. I'm quite done in for the night. And I'm avidly anticipating sleeping in my own bed again."  
  
"You were here last night," Harry pointed out, and Snape paused.  
  
"I spent the night in the hospital ward," he admitted. "No, I'm not going to tell you anything whatever, and I'm fine now, so you might as well leave. No, just go, all right? The Headmaster hinted he might be along this evening to check on me, and if he comes across you here, fussing and henpecking and hanging from my robes, I don't know how I'll explain it. Off!" He managed to disengage his sleeve from Harry's grip, and shooed the student down the hall.  
  
Harry was so glad to have the Potions Master back that he was walking on air, in seventh heaven, and happy as a clam—until about midway through Transfiguration on Monday. That was when he went to divulge his deeper sentiments by transcribing them on paper, and he discovered his journal was missing. He went through his books at least twelve times, until McGonagall snapped at him for not paying attention. He barely noticed. It was all he could do keep himself from racing back to the boys' dormitory. It had to be there. It just had to! As soon as class let out, he tore through the doorway and went running back to Gryffindor Tower.  
  
Even though he rummaged and shuffled and finally all-out ransacked the room, all he found was a single page from the journal under his bed. It didn't have anything incriminating on it, but Harry knew full well that the rest of the journal did. And how did this page end up under the bed? Did someone place it there on purpose, or were bits of it falling out? It didn't bear thinking about. Finally, he gave up and dashed off to the next class to corner Hermione.  
  
"I've LOST it," he gasped, as he crumpled into the chair next to her. He knew he was sweating and pale and shaking, and it was probably the end of the world. And he was going to have to tell Snape. And then everyone else. 'So sorry about the Armageddon, everyone. Just wasn't paying attention, forget my head next.' Shit, shit shit. "What am I going to DO?"  
  
"What'd you lose, mate?" Ron leaned over, looking concerned. If it was possible for Harry's jaw to go even slacker, it did.  
  
"The—the—S.P.E.W. notebook!" he managed to croak. "I lost it. It's gone!"  
  
Hermione looked suitably horrified at this, but Ron just laughed and shook his head. "THAT'S what you're all stuffed9 over? I can't believe it! I thought you'd lost your Firebolt or something!"  
  
"Ron!" Hermione told him in an anguished voice. "That's not all that Harry kept in that notebook! It was. It had. There were things about...the Dark Arts and...OTHER things we wouldn't want the whole world to know about," she grumbled at him through gritted teeth.  
  
"WHAT?" he yelped. "He's been writing about. About that!? Just whose idiot idea was THAT, anyways, putting that down on paper where any literate lunkhead could get it?" He put his face in his hands when Hermione scrunched down in her seat, looking simultaneously furious and guilty. "I might have known," he groaned in a resigned voice. "So what's our first move? Do we bunk off to look for it?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, still very red. "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves," she insisted. "If someone's found it, they might not have read any of it yet, and don't know that it's even important. We have to act casual."  
  
Harry whimpered, sitting on his hands to prevent himself doing anything. "What if it was Neville or Seamus or Dean?" he lamented at Ron, looking seriously wretched. He felt his shoulders give a shudder of despair, and he leaned forward and rested his forehead on the cool tabletop.  
  
Ron was looking at Harry with a scheming expression. "No worries, Harry. We'll just have to get each of them alone, and ask if they've got it. If they say no, we obliviate 'em and let 'em go, no worse for wear. If they have got it, we get it away from them, and we obliviate 'em even worse, so they don't remember reading it. And then we take 'em to Madam Pomfrey and tell her we found 'em that way, and we don't know WHAT'S wrong with 'em. Eh? Right enough?"  
  
Hermione was giving him her, 'I don't know why I put up with you, we're not at all compatible; I'm a girl and you're a jackass' look. Harry, on the other hand, felt unexpectedly consoled by this support. "Yeah, all right, Ron," he said, giving the red-haired boy a wan smile. "If we can't find it anywhere else, let's curse the shit out of everyone that could have done it, and make them give it back." Hermione threw her hands up, and Harry went back to resting his head. He wished to God he hadn't dragged that thing with him everywhere he went. That meant he could have lost it anywhere, anywhere at all. And absolutely anyone could have it.  
  
(There you have it. The end of the chapter. So, er. I hope you liked it. Enough suspense at the end there, for you? Next chapter belongs to Snape, as in Harry does his thing, and then we start to see Sevvie's point of view. No, don't be stupid, of course I don't mean the snake. Yes, I know what I said. All right, all right already! Please review, as always, and tell me if you don't like the list. I know it's distracting. I just figured, just because 'I' know what it means doesn't mean THEY know what it means. We're coming up on some angst, but it will hopefully be amusing angst. And jealousy. Be a doll, tell me you want more! StarryGazer)  
  
List as follows. 1. Banging. Adj. Exciting, energetic, wonderful, excellent. Usually pronounced bangin. (peevish.co.uk/slang)  
  
2. Blinder. Noun. An excellent achievement. E.g."Tim's played another blinder." {Informal}. Also /Blinding. Adj. Excellent, wonderful. E.g."We had a blinding time last night."  
  
3. Dog's bollocks. Noun. The best. E.g."This song is the dog's bollocks." Cf. 'cat's whiskers', 'bee's knees' and 'mutt's nuts'.  
  
4. Bunny boiler. Noun. An obsessive and psychotic woman. Taken from a scene in the film Fatal Attraction. Derog. [Orig. U.S.] and 5. Bunny hugger. Noun. An animal lover. Derog.—last two I wouldn't have probably used, but I liked the alliteration and they made me laugh. Eh. Whatever.  
  
6. China. Noun. A term of address, usually friendly. Derived from the cockney rhyming slang china plate, meaning mate. E.g."Alright china! How's it going then?"  
  
7. Fuck-all. Noun. Nothing. E.g."I had fuck-all to do, so I watched that new BBC sitcom instead."  
  
8. Kip. Noun. 1. Sleep. 2. The face. A shortening of 'kipper'. [Liverpool/North-west use.] Verb. To sleep.  
  
9. Stuffed. Adj. 1. Concerned, bothered. Usually phrased in the negative. E.g."I'm not stuffed with going out drinking tonight." 2. In a position of no hope. 


	20. The Tenth Circle of Hell The One for Tee...

(Kisses and grins to Harper and Dominic, Sylvia Silverton (wish I could keep that humor going all the time) and ataraxis and livingwater89 and the usuals. I know you're not gonna like it, but it has to do with plot and purpose...plus, it has to get Harry really riled up. So he can do stuff OOC. You know? Next chap will be happier, I promise, and I WON'T really be changing ships, I'm just putting some speed bumps down. So they can get irritated and jealous before they get hot and bothered. Which they will, I promise. And to lyres: I laughed when I wrote that part, I never do that. Every time I read it out loud, I laugh. I love giving Harry the upper hand once in a while. He'll get it more often in the next few chapters, although he won't realize it....Please tell me you still want more, even though you must suffer for it? Is it worth it????? StarryGazer)  
  
Chapter 23: The Tenth Circle of Hell; The One for Teenaged Boys, or, Oh,  
God, the Angst! The ANGST! Ow, Ow, Make it Stop!  
  
It had disappeared off the face of the earth. It was the only explanation. They had been all over the castle, and Harry had missed most of his classes, ghosting through people's rooms in his invisibility cloak, scouring their belongings for his precious, ill-considered journal. He'd waited over an hour before he could get the Slytherin password and rummage through their things. Which turned out to be a traumatic experience in and of itself. Who knew Blaise Zabini had such a collection of chains and feathers and oils and pictures of Snape!? and undergarments, and that Jack, who had seemed relatively normal, had such a stash of...things...and...stuff? Or that the room Draco shared with Crabbe and Goyle, among others, was absolutely wallpapered with pictures of Draco himself? Or that one of the rooms had a little makeshift shrine to Harry, whose own picture looked distinctly embarrassed? But, no matter where he looked, there was no journal to be found.  
  
"So that means nobody has it," Hermione announced firmly, against all logic.  
  
"Maybe someone has it AND knows how valuable it really is AND isn't letting it out of their sight AND is handing it over to Voldemort right now?" Harry shot back. "You two didn't find a thing. I'm dead. He's dead. We're all completely dead. What a cock-up I've made of it this time." Harry fisted a handful of his hair, still castigating himself in his head.  
  
"Stop berating yourself, Harry," Hermione told him. "I know I read a spell about how to find things you've lost. I just have to remember what book it's in. Now, I read it last Easter, so it would have been the same time I did the paper on Nagas. No, wait, I did that two years ago. So, then..."  
  
Ron pulled Harry aside and offered his own comfort. "If we don't find it by tomorrow, we'll lock Hermione in the library and go on a cursing splurge. We'll start with Malfoy and catch him out in the prefect's bathroom and hex him three ways from Sunday. And then we'll oblivate him. And we'll go down the list until we catch whoever took it, and we'll make them pay. We'll find it, one way or another. Agreed?"  
  
Harry nodded shakily. "Should. Should I tell Snape? I mean; I put his name down and everything. He could be in big trouble because of me. I mean, like; the kind of trouble where they tie heavy objects to your ankles and heave you into a large body of water. Why do I always have to be so pissing thick-headed?"  
  
Ron shrugged. "'Cause you're you, I guess. One of the best things about you, in my opinion. Come on. If you were famous, and rich, and nice—all things you bloody well are—AND you were cautious and intelligent and sensitive on top of it, you'd be the most hated bloke at Hogwarts. And probably bent as a nine bob note, to boot. And I don't think you should tell Snape. Not yet, Harry," he went on in a discouraging voice when Harry tried to interrupt. "Can't you just imagine what he'll DO to you? If they merged all nine circles of hell into one really big, really nasty circle, it still wouldn't be as bad as whatever Snape came up with. Look; just leave it until tomorrow. One day, Harry, that's all I'm asking!"  
  
Hermione heard this and interrupted. "You SHOULD tell him, Harry. This isn't just your life; it affects his, too. And I think you owe him the truth. I know it will be hard, but wouldn't it be better if he heard it from you?" Harry bit his lip and nodded, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. Tell Snape the truth? Dear God. He'd rather be boiled alive. Which, unfortunately, wasn't even an option. "Good, then," Hermione told him. "I'll run down to the library and see if I can figure out which book that spell was in. Hang in there, Harry, all right?"  
  
After she was gone, Ron turned to him and said, "Look, tell Hermione you want to be alone when you tell Snape about the journal. Tell her you'll stay after class to do it; you do that all the time anyhow, so that won't be suspicious. And then, if you DON'T WANT TO, you don't HAVE to tell him anything. Just tell her he said he'd take care of it, and not to...not to talk about it, right? And then you and I can take care of it on our own. I'm just giving you an out, Harry," he added desperately. "I don't want to see my best mate's large and small intestines strewn about the room like some kind of morbid Death Eater party decorations! Just keep it in mind, that's all!"  
  
When Hermione came back with a stack of books from the library, Harry prayed one of them would have a spell that would help. "Ohhh...here's one; 'How to Have a Miraculous Memory,' that might help you remember where you saw it last...oh. No, it only helps you to remember things from now on, and you'd never forget anything again."  
  
"That'd be a right crack, wouldn't it? Too many things I'd RATHER forget," Ron put in helpfully. "What about this, 'Redderus Redigere,' spell...forces a person to give back something taken. That'd be right handy, if we knew who had it. Anybody got a bookmark?"  
  
"I'm using all of mine," Hermione told him in a somewhat petulant voice; she only had about a hundred.  
  
Harry sighed and rummaged around in his pockets until he found a spare piece of paper. "Here, use this. Come on, there has to be SOMETHING useful. What about this one? The Reverserum. Forces the drinker of the potion to do everything they've recently done, in reverse order. At least that way I'd know all the places I'd been." He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "But I already KNOW all the places I've been, and the book wasn't anywhere obvious, so it must have gotten moved. Or pinched."  
  
"And it only goes back a few hours. Have you tried the Summoning Charm again?" Hermione queried. This was getting to be a sore point between the two of them. Hermione had never heard of any spell, when done properly, not working.  
  
"Only about five hundred times today, all right?" Harry attested. "And there was NO EFFECT, none whatever. And no, I DON'T know why. Maybe you're right, maybe it is my fault. Maybe I'm not concentrating hard enough, I don't know. All I know is that it isn't working. Ugh. Nothing's working."  
  
"Well," Hermione sighed regretfully, looking at the time. "We'd really better get going, we'll be late for...detention. I'm sorry, Harry, we've just run out of time. But...surely HE'LL know what to do." She gave him a weak smile, and none of them felt very convinced.  
  
"Walls, Granger and Potter. Weasely, Occlumency. Wand out." Snape brusquely greeted them when they came in the room. Harry was struck by how hoarse and tired his voice was. Certainly Harry couldn't do this; add more to the man's already overly large burden?  
  
He exchanged a worried look with Hermione as they went to do their walls. Harry found the writing on the wall more than a little terrifying. Ron's was 'I WON'T COME CRYING TO PROFESSOR SNAPE,' but Hermione had 'THREE CAN KEEP A SECRET IF TWO OF THEM ARE DEAD,' which seemed ominous in the extreme, and Harry's stomach was turning to ice as he wrote and rewrote, 'SOMEDAY, PROFESSOR SNAPE WON'T BE THERE TO DO IT FOR ME.'  
  
By the end of class he was a nervous wreck. When it came time to leave, he told his friends, "I'll be up in a bit, I need to ask the professor something," and watched as Ron gave him the thumbs-up, and Hermione patted his shoulder sympathetically. Finally, he took several deep, calming breaths and turned to face the teacher.  
  
"Mister Potter."  
  
"Sir. I." Harry had to cough several times, trying to force the words out of a suddenly dry throat. "I lost something. You see, I had this journal I was writing things down in, and I may have mentioned some...things about you, and these classes and...other things that I realize now I really, REALLY should never have written down and. And you can kill me if you like, because I so utterly deserve it, I can't think of a single reason for you to let me live. Oh, er. Yeah, the Voldemort thing, there is that. I might have to be the one to kill him. But anyhow. Where was I? Oh, yeah, I lost it and I'm so unbelievably sorry and I don't know what to do. Um. Other than beg for forgiveness and swear I'll change and hope like hell you have some kind of idea about how to find it, because I'm dead out." Severus walked toward him, his face wholly expressionless, and Harry collapsed to his knees, eyes shut tightly, and he whimpered, "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, I really, truly am!"  
  
"You lost your journal," Severus stated in a dead voice.  
  
"Yes, sir. It was just a notebook; it had little—um. Little. Ah. Little...faces drawn all over it."  
  
"I see. Rather like this, was it?" And Harry opened his eyes to find his journal, ambivalent faces and all, being held about three and a half inches from his nose.  
  
His first instinct was a vast sense of relief. Voldemort didn't have it. Malfoy didn't have it. The forces of evil could not use it against him, and wouldn't know about—Severus. Who DID have it. The ambivalent faces seemed to come into greater focus at this thought, and Harry shut his eyes again, hoping they would go away. Now relief was thrown into the background, and embarrassment was vying with shame for being the more devastating emotion. Oh, good Lord. Harry slowly got to his feet, and felt his entire body begin trembling, as he watched Severus march back to his desk. "Um. Wh—where did you find it?" Harry asked him in a high-pitched voice, laden with adolescent apprehension.  
  
Severus paused, and turned to give him an extremely sour look. "In my bed. Mister Potter. I crawled in and felt my foot brush against something beneath the sheets. I can assure you, this is an unhappy occurrence for us both. Do you have any idea what you have done? How many years of toil and sacrifice would have been wasted, rendered useless, had this fallen into the wrong hands? Not to mention the peril that it placed you, me, your friends, and everything you claim to hold so dear in?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Harry whispered. He felt a tear pooling against the bottom frame of his glasses, before gathering enough substance go around, leaving a trail for its impending followers. "I am so sorry. It WAS stupid. It was. I never." He looked at the ground, feeling acutely dizzy, and as though a great stone had lodged somewhere between his stomach and heart. Nothing Snape had ever done or said before had had this kind of impact on him. Never had the man managed to make him feel so guilty.  
  
"Once I realized what this was, I put wards on it—as many as I could think of. You didn't even think to do that. I felt you calling for it, you know. 'Accio' doesn't work when there are several Obsture Spells placed on an object. I am going to destroy this, and I am ORDERING you to never so much as CONSIDER starting another. Is that perfectly clear?"  
  
"Yes, sir. As crystal, sir. It will never happen again as long as I live. Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Harry added vehemently. He watched silently as Severus took the wards off the book, one by one.  
  
When this was finished, the man turned to the fireplace. "Exterpato Conflagrarus!" he said, tossing the unfortunate journal into the flames. Then he sighed, and stood for a long time without facing Harry. His shoulders were bent, as though he were filled with disgrace. Harry gulped a few times, wishing there was something he could say. He hadn't meant for this to happen. For anything to happen, really.  
  
Finally, Snape squared his shoulders and turned to the youth, his dark eyes flat. "As usual, you managed to make the wrong choice in this situation, every time one was offered you. I. Will not hold you solely responsible. This was something that could have been prevented much earlier, had I but the will or the sense to do so. It has been apparent for some time now that you've harboured some...infatuation for me, which I should not have excused. I overlooked your behaviour, as it seemed to...motivate your studies to a certain extent. I am well aware that I am not blameless in this, and that even to let you continue to hold romantic delusions was not...the correct thing to do. And that, if the Dark Lord discovered your preoccupation, it would surely mean death for me, and vulnerability for you. I had hoped, I suppose, that you would have realized this, and used it as an impetus in your Occlumency training. I had also hoped you realized, on some level, the impossibility of your desires. Also that, even could they be granted you, it could mean, for me, condemnation and censure from Dumbledore and the Ministry, and the rest of the Wizarding world, and death and torture from the Dark Lord. Evidently, it was overmuch to give you the responsibility of knowing how to treat the situation with the caution, discretion, and the maturity it merited.  
  
"I feel I must tell you, for the sake of avoiding any future misunderstandings, that your feelings are entirely one-sided. I apologize, for I've no doubt it must hurt you, but I feel this fantasy is most unhealthy for a boy your age. I will not be trite, and tell you to find someone your own age, but I will warn you that any advances toward me will not be welcome."  
  
Harry was drowning. He was dying. Snape wasn't penalizing him, and he wasn't ridiculing him, he was outright REJECTING him, and, worse, he was trying to be NICE about it. Calm, rational. Dear God, the man was trying to be reasonable about it. Harry opened and shut his mouth, wanting to find some way around the words, but it was as though the man had spoken an impenetrable wall between them. And what could Harry say? The man wasn't WRONG about anything. Harry found himself unable to speak a single word, either in his favor or his defense.  
  
"It would be best if you no longer visited my chambers, or stayed after class. And I feel you would benefit from making an attempt to find someone younger, who returns your feelings." Snape actually looked. Well. Harry couldn't exactly say. Tired, he supposed. That's all it was. Snape looked tired, and who wouldn't be, after fighting off the advances of a not-quite- seventeen year old? "It surprises me to say it, but I expected better of you, Mister Potter. I did not think you felt your friends and your safety worth so little as a fleeting, schoolboy crush."  
  
Finally, something Harry could deny. "It isn't fleeting," he responded hotly. "And how DARE you act as though I haven't a right to my own feelings and desires! I don't give a damn how you feel about me; I don't have any control over that. But don't you try to tell me how I should feel about you! You think I haven't realized how much trouble I could get us all in? You think I haven't realized how completely inappropriate my feelings for you are?" His voice broke, and became thick with tears. "You think I WANTED to fall in love with you? That this has been some kind of joy ride for me? I'm not stupid. I knew perfectly well that it was something that could get you killed, and I quashed it as hard as I could! I couldn't help it, damn it! I'm SORRY! I just. Can't. Stop fucking feeling this way! The only thing that helped was writing it down! I tried to be careful. I kept it with me. I tried not to name names too often, or anything like that. I'm sorry." Harry was really shaking now, with rage and fear and helpless despair. "I knew perfectly well that you could never love me. I would have been happy to never tell anyone about it, least of all you! I'm sorry. I know you're putting your life on the line, and I'm jeopardizing you even further. I'll stop, if I can. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for loving you." Harry turned and ran blindly from the classroom, feeling the choking sobs well up, leaving him nearly breathless.  
  
When he reached the foot of Gryffindor Tower, he sat by the wall and wrapped his arms around his legs, and let his sorrow carry him into wracking convulsions. He waited until dawn, but the Potions Master did not come after him. He did not get up to leave until Peeves began mocking him and yanking his hair. Then, he avoided the tower completely, and went straight on to breakfast.  
  
Ron and Hermione dragged him away from the table first thing. "What happened? Was he awfully mad? Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry! We should have stayed and told him with you! The whole thing was my idea!" Hermione wailed, remorseful at Harry's pale face and red-rimmed eyes.  
  
"What did he do to you?" Ron demanded in the meanwhile, hand squeezing Harry's shoulder. "That bastard! Did he poison you? I don't care what it was; he's not getting away with it this time! Come on, Harry, I owled Fred and George, they're on standby. Just waiting for your word and there'll be one less lousy Death Eater about the place. I don't care if he's loyal to Dumbledore or not, I'm not going to let him do! Whatever he did! To you! The right bastard!" He was completely taken aback when Harry threw his arms around him and burst into tears, burying his head in Ron's shoulder. Ron's face was terrified, as he looked at Hermione over Harry's head, completely at a loss. He could see she was mouthing something at him, and pointing to Harry. 'LIKE A GIRL!' she mouthed. 'TREAT HIM LIKE A GIRL! JUST PRETEND HE'S A GIRL!' He wasn't sure if this was at all helpful; he didn't have much more experience with girls' hysterics than he did with boys'. "Erm. All right, mate, all right," he said, in what he hoped was a soothing, 'I'm not at all about to faint from shock' sort of voice. He put one arm gingerly around Harry's thin frame, and patted his back. With the other, he tried to smooth down his friend's hair, which was, as usual, all over the place, and doing its best to get into Ron's nose. "We'll just go and kill the nasty old brute, eh, mate? You and me and Fred and George, and he'll be dead, and then he'll be sorry! Eh? And then everything can just go back to bloody normal...."  
  
(I'm sorry I had to throw so much angst at you all at once, and I know a lot of you are probably wondering about Hermione, but she'll more or less explain her reasoning next chapter. I really wanted to get this out (eff- ing A, it's past midnight here, and I have work tomorrow) because I love you all and don't want you to have to wait on me to get your Harry/Sev fix. Like I wait on ShadowPhoenix. Who is as much Goddess as authoress, damn her if she doesn't post Wednesday! I will call on mighty Thor, God of Thunder, and Jexil, God of Prescription Medicines, and Sar, God of Fanfics, to have maggots feast on her in the netherworlds if she doesn't. So, yeah. Like I said, sorry about the angst, it's there to even the playing field and give me a jumping-off point for Sev's POV. Which I keep promising, don't I? I could have held this back, you know. Next time, I can just hold out until I'm good and ready, or I can post what I've got. Up to you. Just let me know. I know it seems cruel, but next we get funny, and then, well, more angst, but it's really sexual tension in angst's clothing, okay? Because a little jealousy can lead to a big row, and a big row can lead to...well. A lot of things, and not all of them bad. Misunderstandings galore next chap! Please don't jump ship, I need your reviews to give me self-worth and spiritual fulfillment! StarryGazer) 


	21. Just One Damn Thing After Another

(All right...so I lied again. But only because it was too long, that's all, I swear! The rest is...well, NEARLY finished, but I was on page twelve and thought; I'm on a whole different topic with different feelings than I was a few pages ago...gotta separate it somehow. So, sorry! (Whimpers pathetically and begs for forgiveness) Anywho, thanks go out to Lady Darkness13—forget killing Snape, just do me a favor and pull a Voldemort and make me a new right hand! Mine's killing me! I'd be going much faster if it weren't. Adele Sparks; I'm glad you don't think it's too angsty, hope you don't mind too much that the feeling hangs around for just a bit. I'm not crazy about angst—I can't even read the last few chapters of OOTP without getting all mopey. I'm an angst wimp. Shiroiryul—my roommate about died laughing when I read him the title. I love him to death, but what a dork. (Sighs.) So, still not quite where I promised you, but we're getting there! StarryGazer)  
Chapter 24: Just One Damn Thing After Another  
  
Finally, Harry's agitation subsided enough for him to realize that he was clinging to Ron like some sort of damp milkmaid, and he drew back in dread. "Oh. God, I'm sorry," he managed to rasp out. He paused. "I've actually lost count how many times I've said that recently." He managed a twisted, self-mocking smile, attempting to lift the gloom a little. It didn't work in the slightest, and he snuffled a bit and rubbed his nose.  
  
"Yuck, Harry," Ron said, and Harry experienced a unique moment of terror, in which he imagined Ron demanding to know how Harry could hug another guy that way, and call him a freak. Instead, his friend merely continued, "You'll want to blow your nose; you wouldn't believe the amount of bogies you've developed in the last few minutes. Hermione, give him a handkerchief or something. Girls always have those, don't they?"  
  
And Harry wiped his nose, alternating between leftover sobs and frenetic, choked laughter. Hermione leaned in to say something to Harry, but looked at Ron, and thought better of it. She bit her lip for a long moment, before suddenly announcing, "Oh, did I mention what Malfoy said to me in Arithmancy yesterday?" Both Ron and Harry looked puzzled by this change of topic, and shook their heads. "He called me a slag," she told them matter- of-factly, and both boys' jaws dropped.  
  
"He WHAT?" Ron roared, enraged. "Right, I'll just go and bloody well sort him out, then, shall I?" He was so red and so thoroughly wrathful that he hardly looked like the same person. "WHERE IS HE?"  
  
Hermione pointed to where Malfoy was leaning over Pansy Parkinson, turning on the charm. "I'd see to it before Crabbe and Goyle showed up for their morning feeding trough," she added quietly. Ron steamed off, and a vigorous altercation ensued.  
  
Hermione turned back to Harry. "Right. Now. What happened?"  
  
Harry had to shake his head before being able to ignore the yells and bloodshed, and bring himself back to the substantive problem at hand. "Oh. He had it. Oh, Hermione, he read it," he told her despondently. "And he doesn't—doesn't—feel that way. As well. That's pretty much all," he moaned, before breaking off into a sob that turned into a pitiful keening. Hermione put her arms around him, and he leaned on her shoulder for a moment before making a desperate attempt to pull himself together. Dimly, he heard a teacher separating and scolding Ron and Malfoy, and knew he'd better calm down. "Don't tell. Ron. Yet. About any of this, all right?" he begged her, and she agreed straight away. He gave her a sideways look and asked why she'd said that about Malfoy.  
  
"Well, I had to," she told him serenely. "You needed to get it out, and Ron wasn't ready for it. I had to get rid of him for a moment. Besides," she confessed, watching the two sweating, angry boys still gesticulating heatedly at each other, "it was kind of fun, in a 'Have a bite of the apple, go on eat the apple, I've eaten the apple and nothing's happened to me, has it?' sort of way." Harry gave her a half smile, and she scrunched up her nose, looking contrite as Ron rejoined them, nose bleeding and knuckles bruised. "What'd you get?" she asked him.  
  
"Oh, nothing. More detention. 'Spect they'll have to think something else up, once they realize I'm booked quite solid when it comes to detentions, eh? Anyway...Harry. You all right, then? What did Snape do, exactly? Did he know a spell to get the notebook back?" He looked frightened when Harry's face crumpled again.  
  
He patted Harry's shoulder and Hermione assured him that Snape would cool off eventually. "Oh, he's quite cool enough," Harry reported resentfully. "I shouldn't worry about that. No, Ron. No, don't bother the twins. The whole thing is over and done, all right? It wasn't any big deal, anyway. Snape had the journal the whole time." He ignored Ron's burst of relief, which quickly morphed back into concern when he realized this was not the end of the story. "I'm sure you wouldn't understand. I'm not going to go into details, but he didn't perform any big, grisly act of retribution that would cause you to take up arms. Mostly, he just banished me from his presence outside of class, and told me I was a disappointment. You know; the standard adult load of bollocks."  
  
"I don't get how that made so go so skrikey and distraught!" Ron replied, looking bewildered.  
  
"It was. More than that," Harry got out, not meeting Hermione's eye. "I just don't want to talk about it, all right? I really just don't want to talk about any of it. Er. You're not mad at me, are you?" he went on, his voice faltering a little.  
  
"What? Why?" Ron responded, genuinely surprised. "Oh! That. That's just. I was—sort of—startled, I guess. But. Well. You know me, cool as a cucumber. Nothing fazes me," he bragged, waving a hand breezily. "You don't, er, need to see Madam Pomfrey, or something, do you?" he continued warily. He looked like he didn't know whether to believe Harry or not when Harry shook his head.  
  
"Well," Hermione interjected, "class doesn't start for another twenty minutes. I think I'll go put those library books back. Won't need them now, will we?" Harry shook his head, wondering why this didn't make him even a little happier.  
  
Harry was mourning the loss of his relationship with Snape, as well as the loss of his dear, departed journal. He couldn't put his terrible sadness into words, and he felt like it was eating him up inside. He'd lost the man of his dreams, the one way he could express how he felt about it, and even the memories the journal had held, except, of course, for that one lousy page. Come to think of it, Harry wasn't certain where that page was. He'd found it under the bed, and kept it while he hunted though everyone else's belongings...where did he have it last? Ah, well. It wasn't as though it was important, anyhow. It would turn up.  
  
It was less than twenty-four hours before the next big disaster struck. The three of them trouped in to detention to find not only an extremely cold Severus Snape, but also one smug, if still slightly swollen, Draco Malfoy sneering at them. Ron came to a halt, causing Harry to run into him. "What the bloody hell is HE doing here?" Ron snarled, hackles already good and raised. Harry looked at the professor.  
  
Severus never looked him in the eye. "Since these detentions seem to be having no bearing whatsoever on your behaviour," he told Ron silkily, "I will give you the choice of being put off the Quidditch team for the rest of the year," he smirked when Ron gave a bleat of indignation, "or you can do Mister Malfoy's lines for him, as well as your own."  
  
"Why can't he do his own lines, then?" Ron hollered.  
  
"Because he is taking advanced courses, and needs this time to study," Snape replied smoothly, as Malfoy chuckled and looked even more self- satisfied, "and because humiliation may be a better deterrent to your recent...degeneration into fisticuffs."  
  
They did lines in silence all night. It was only the second time they'd had to actually do them all, but Harry was almost grateful. At least he wasn't having to look Snape in the face during any of it. He didn't know how he'd ever manage to do that again, considering how he knew Snape felt about him. He tried not to think about it, and suffered in silence all evening.  
  
When it was finally time to go, Snape said, "Mister Potter, a moment of your time, if you would. I'm sure you'd only waste it on your own, at any rate." Harry's heart soared, hoping Snape would say something, anything, that made Harry feel less...empty. Less like a pitcher with a crack in the side, useless because everything important had been drained. "Malfoy, get going. If I catch you hanging about the halls I'll dock you points, I mean it. I haven't the patience tonight." Malfoy scowled and slunk out the door. Harry looked up at Snape hopefully, but the man never looked at him. He drew a box out from under his desk and handed it to Harry. "Get rid of this," he commanded. And that was all. Harry looked into the box, and sighed sadly when he saw Junior. Harry had never been so depressed. Unfortunately, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. It looked like he'd lost any chance he'd ever have with Severus Snape. Snape didn't want him. And Harry knew that when Severus Snape had his mind made up about something, neither Heaven nor Hell nor Dumbledore nor Dark Lord could change it. It was over. When it was clear Snape wasn't going to say anything more, Harry kept his head high as he brushed past the man on the way out. He hoped he seemed calm and cool, but on the inside, he was seething.  
  
When he rounded the corner, he almost ran smack into Malfoy, who was leaning insolently against the wall. He didn't say anything as Harry jerked to a halt and glared at him, he merely let his smirk widen and become a leer. Harry's stomach clenched uncomfortably. It had been bad enough dealing with Malfoy before, when it was only the boy's natural personality that got under Harry's skin; it was ten times worse watching him kiss up to Snape, and worse still to see Snape act as though he was taken in by it, as though Draco was a favorite.  
  
"Despicable little ferret," he greeted the boy coldly.  
  
"Pathetic closet-case," Malfoy replied tranquilly. Harry paused, tried not to let any emotion show. This was the same sort of insult Malfoy always offered, nothing more. He swallowed, ignoring the race of his pulse. "I believe I've got something of yours," Draco continued, holding up a slip of paper between two pale fingers. "Seems it's just a snippet of the real deal, but I think it's quite juicy, all the same. And I'd be willing to bet that the rest of Hogwarts agrees with me."  
  
What the hell? Harry stared at the paper uncomprehendingly. Suddenly it dawned on him—the missing page from his journal! "How the hell did you get that?" he growled, bunching his hands into fists.  
  
"Oh, a little bookworm gave it to me," Draco said nonchalantly. He brought it closer to Harry's face, so Harry could see his own handwriting on the paper. He got a glimpse of '...all Slytherins look good in black, but it looks especially good on him. God, I wish I could kiss him. His dark features...' "Retidus Domo," Draco muttered, and the paper squeezed itself up, turned itself inside out, and vanished. "Don't worry, love, I've put it somewhere safe." His smile gleamed carnivorously.  
  
Harry clenched his jaw. "Bring it back."  
  
"Ah, ah, ah, you'll get it when I'm good and ready to give it to you." His eyes narrowed wickedly, and Harry did not miss the double entendre. He took a step back, glaring.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked, already knowing that it wouldn't be good. Malfoy leaned over and whispered in his ear, and Harry roughly shoved him away. "I wouldn't do—that! To you! God, you make me sick!" It wasn't so much the act, as the way Malfoy was going about getting it, making it into something degrading and depraved. "Just. Stay. Stay the fuck away from me, you pervert!" Harry pulled away, and began running back to Gryffindor Tower, but Malfoy's voice followed him.  
  
"It won't do you any good to run, Potter!" Harry stopped and looked back, furious, resentful and ill. "If you don't comply with my request, I'll be giving this to the Daily Prophet, and the whole Wizarding world will know what you are. They have spells that can prove it's your handwriting. And how many will fight on Dumbledore's side then, hmm? Let me tell you something about self-respecting people; they'd rather be led by a tyrant than a freak." Harry's mouth opened in horror. This could sway enough wizards to Voldemort's side to give him success. The key factor in Voldemort's eventual victory could be Harry's weakness. Draco lifted his chin triumphantly at the look of realization on Harry's face. "I'll give you time to think it over, how's that?" Draco offered. "I'm a reasonable gentleman. I want your answer by, shall we say, Wednesday at this time?" He turned and began to move lithely toward the Slytherin rooms. "But if I don't have it by then," he warned over his shoulder, "everyone will know all about your little deviation." He laughed quietly to himself as he walked away.  
  
Harry went up to the Astronomy Tower, thinking to find Ron and Hermione, but it was empty. He contemplated throwing himself off, but that was the coward's way—the Slytherin's way. He sat for a long time, but the anger kept building and building inside of him. There was just...too much...emotion to be contained by one slim youth. All the despair and hurt and, above all, the irrepressible fury kept mounting, until it reached a crescendo. He knew it was wrong, but the energy had to go somewhere—it HAD to, or he would erupt. He aimed his wand into the night and said the first spell that came to mind, and then another, and then another, until he was babbling an incoherent stream of magic, all of it purposeless, all of it forbidden, all of it absolutely intoxicating.  
  
Sparks were flying from the tower, and flames blazing from the end of his wand, and mysterious shapes shot out, swirling around him and disintegrating, and a screechy kind of music dominated it all. He was screaming now, fully past caring about the consequences, ready to shake the world and glory in his own seismic power. He realized there was shouting behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Snape and Dumbledore, both looking frightened. Reluctantly, he let the show grind to a halt.  
  
Severus took two long strides toward him, looking as angry as Harry had ever seen, but Dumbledore put a hand up to stop him. "Now, Severus, I know you care...ah. You have the boy's best interests at heart," he said with the usual imperturbable twinkle, "but I think Mister Potter and I need a word alone. And really, this was not so unexpected. It is hard to be in the throes of adolescence, and refrain from doing things which we regret later in life." He gave the Potions Master a look over his half-moon glasses, causing Severus to look disgruntled. Still, the man retreated to the doorway, leaving headmaster and pupil alone.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, when they were alone. "I couldn't help it. I had to. Something. I don't know. I'm sorry.  
  
"Harry..." Dumbledore began, looking sympathetic. "I must ask you to control yourself in the future. These...outbursts...are drawing the darkness to you. They remind Voldemort of the power he craves, and of what you are."  
  
"And what am I?" Harry responded, quite sincerely.  
  
"A very confused youth," Dumbledore said instantly. "But also a great threat to him. Harry. When you lose control this way, it gives Voldemort an opening. It is giving in to the one thing he has with which to tempt you: power. You must not flaunt this power; it is too dangerous. It is a channel through which he will undoubtedly try to reach you, and could easily overpower you. That is the enigma of power, Harry. It is so easily misunderstood; even Voldemort, for all his experience with the substance, knows really very little of it, or how it is gained. He never understood that it is through sacrifice that we obtain true power, or that few things, such as unconditional love, and faith, and honesty, are worth such a sacrifice. And that the only way to wield such power is not through domination at all, but through sharing, acceptance, and giving."  
  
Dumbledore sounded so much like a crappy greeting card that Harry snorted. "I'm not feeling all that crazy about love and giving, right now, Professor," Harry told him in a tart voice.  
  
Dumbledore merely smiled. "Well, I suppose that is to be expected. Teenaged boys are notoriously selfish, after all." This caused Harry to gape. Dumbledore patted his knee, and then muttered, "You are completely normal Harry. And try to remember, it is very hard to overcome our teenage years. They form such a part of who we are, and, for some of us, will not let us be whom we would become. Just keep in mind that those people who do which is best for us, regardless of what it does to them, are the ones that truly love us."  
  
Harry thought he was going to cry. Dumbledore knew everything. But was this a reference to Severus, or just a completely unrelated nugget of joy? "Professor...I'm gay," he confessed shakily. He had to tell Dumbledore the truth. If this affected the fight against Voldemort, Dumbledore would have to be prepared.  
  
"Oh? Well, I don't suppose one would put it in a fortune cookie, but it has the ring of truth, nonetheless. And moreover?"  
  
Harry stared. Fortune cookie? What the hell did that mean? "Erm. If people found out, they'd hate me. They wouldn't want. They wouldn't." He looked away. "They wouldn't take your side against Voldemort."  
  
"Ah. If people found out, they'd merely know you. A little better than they would have, perhaps. And some will be upset, and others, who had thought you simply too good and pure to relate to, will realize that you, too, are human. And like you all the better for it. And, in the end, it will not matter very much, I think. And it will matter not so much whom your heart chooses to love, but that it has love enough to do so. That will be what gives you strength. Now. I feel rather like a cup of tea, after that most astonishing display of power. I quite liked the shower of green and violet spangles you managed near the end. Care to join me? No? Well...remember, truth can never hurt as much as a lie, because it will come out eventually, and it stings oh, so much worse after being repressed." He gave Harry a sharp look before leaving, and Harry sat for a long time, trying to sort out a confused conversation, and the even more confusing thoughts it had led to.  
  
Harry tried to get Hermione alone the next morning, but Ron was having none of it. "No. I'm sick of this. And the last time the two of you got left alone together, she came up with the brilliant idea of putting our most secret secrets right down on paper for any fool to find. You aren't allowed to sneak off and decide things without me; no good comes of it. You aren't safe to be left alone together. So. No more conspiracies kept from Ron, eh? What's the new crisis? Spill it, Harry. Go on. I demand that you tell me."  
  
Harry stared at him, torn between exasperation and exhaustion. Wasn't he allowed to have one normal, calm, happy day, where insane, life-altering situations weren't dumped in his lap? "Draco Malfoy is trying to blackmail me into giving him a blowjob." Harry threw out caustically.  
  
Ron looked as though he were going to pass out, or vomit, or perhaps both, maybe at the same time. "You didn't have to tell me that!" he said in a stricken voice.  
  
"You just DEMANDED TO BE TOLD," Harry snarled at him. "You insisted!"  
  
"Yes, but you didn't have to actually TELL me," Ron replied. "I think I've gone deaf from the vile words alone!"  
  
"Surprising, how well you hear for a deaf man," Hermione interjected dryly.  
  
"Yes, well. It may be a sort of slow-acting deafness," Ron defended himself. "Which probably only comes on as the words rot in there. Maybe I could clean them out or something."  
  
"By all means, go and do it," Harry replied. "If you didn't like that, you surely won't like what's coming up."  
  
Ron whined, "Will I have to hear it from someone else, then?"  
  
"Only if I don't give Malfoy a blowjob."  
  
"Can I sit down and put my arms round my knees and rock back and forth for a bit? No, God. God. Just go on. What's coming up, then? Worse than this?"  
  
"Harry..." Hermione warned, putting a hand on his arm as though it could restrain him from speaking.  
  
"Fine. Let's not. Let's just not talk about it any more right now, all right? I need to think." Hermione nodded vehemently, and Ron capitulated as well. He wasn't certain what Harry's news was, but he'd had more than enough already.  
  
(I know, I know, too much plot and no one likes TrulyEvil!Draco. I don't do Draco well, for some reason. Any advice on that, anyone? He just feels wrong to me, like I'm not meant to mess with this character. Odd, huh? Supernatural fanfics...ohhh, scary. Or over-involved excuses, same dif. I ended it here for natural time movement, as well as other considerations; I'm having a hard time breaking things down into the correct time lengths. And then I confuse myself! Gahh! I just want to get to the funny lines! I hate messing with all this damn plot! I like character, character I tell you! Plot bores me! But it grounds me, too, and helps me to remember I'm trying to go somewhere. Snape's bed, for preference. All right, well, tell me you forgive me for torturing you a little longer, as my hand is torturing me. I need a break! And remember, some of the things I do are necessary for plot, angst, and the seeds of jealousy. Just keep it in mind! (Wanders away to find her hand a hot-water bottle, bag of ice, or chainsaw—to handle the problem 'Evil Dead' style.) Love and ANGST from StarryGazer) 


	22. One Slytherin is Too Many, Two’s a Crowd...

(All right, everybody, I haven't even read your reviews of the last one, yet, I was in too much of a hurry to get this one going. Credit to Terry Pratchett for the song. Grrr, I just didn't have TIME to get to Snape's POV, I have to go to work now! I wish I could write all day! I'm sorry, probably more tonight! StarryGazer)  
  
Chapter 25: One Slytherin is Too Many, Two's a Crowd and Three, You're Dead  
  
After classes, Harry snuck down to the Owlery, where he asked Hedwig to deliver a note he had prepared earlier. He'd worked on it almost all day. He didn't have much hope that it would do anything (it probably wouldn't even reach its intended receiver before the whole catastrophe was over) but Harry felt a strange need to do this. If nothing else, maybe he could keep it from being a total shock to Lupin when next he saw the Daily Prophet. He'd only revised the letter at least seven hundred times—in his head. He only actually wrote it down once. Truth be told, Harry was developing an acute paranoia of putting quill to parchment. It was hard to know what to tell Remus, and how much, or if he should try to explain himself, and it kept coming out all wrong. Finally, he decided a short, to the point note would be best. At least, it was as short as he could get it without leaving out anything he thought was important.  
  
'Dear Moony,  
  
Hope you're doing well. I know I shouldn't contact you, but I wanted  
you to hear it from me. I'm gay. Sorry. It's just that Malfoy found  
out, and it'll probably be in the papers shortly, so it looks like I'm  
coming out of the closet whether I want to or not. He's trying to  
blackmail me, but I don't think it's something I could do. At the very  
least, I could never trust him not to tell, regardless. Still not sure  
how to handle things. And this probably won't reach you before it's  
happened, but I thought I should make the effort, at least. Like I  
said: I'm sorry. I hope you don't hate me now, but I won't blame you  
if you don't want to be friends anymore.  
  
Your friend (if you still want to be) Harry'  
  
"Here," he told the owl, as he tickled the wispy feathers framing her face, "please hurry with this one, if you can. It's important." Hedwig blinked reassuringly at him, before clicking her beak in a professional way. Harry watched her fly until she was a speck in the gathering dusk. He sighed heavily. Would the werewolf think he was unnatural? He couldn't even guess.  
  
In detention that night, Snape was oddly civil. A complete stranger wouldn't have known there were any problems between the Potions Master and Harry. Except that, of course, he completely avoided Harry's eyes again. He was never unkind (which creeped Ron out far more than his most venomous insults) but he was also extremely distant. "Very good, Mister Potter," he told Harry in a clipped voice during Occlumency. "I do believe we may achieve better, though. Since you exhibited a marked improvement when you used that...meditative tool—the white room—I have been thinking visualization techniques might be of assistance. Now, the next time I attack, I want you to picture..."  
  
Harry tried to be as mature about it as possible, and as calm and composed as Snape was. It was hard, very hard to deal with a Snape so drastically different. To Harry, this was not Severus Snape. This was a separate person, one whom Harry had never met. The man didn't even bring up the commotion of the night before. He gave sincere, if minor compliments. He never bothered to insult Harry when Harry did something stupid. He was controlled, and bland, and, and NICE. Harry detested him.  
  
When Harry and his friends returned to the tower, they found Hedwig waiting. Harry was really surprised. Could she have found him and returned already? She was holding out her leg, hooting impatiently, and Harry hurried over. Apparently, she could, and did find Remus that quickly. "Wow," he told her genuinely, "that was bloody amazing! Next time I know who to go to when I have a rush message, don't I?" Hedwig fluffed her feathers and looked away, as though it was no big deal, but Harry could tell she was pleased, and feeling a little smug about the whole thing. "Go on down to the Owlery," he told her, "and I'll make sure the house elves fix you a special breakfast treat." Harry looked uncertainly at Ron before unfolding the paper with shaking fingers. "I'll just read it myself, first, all right? If you can stand five minutes of waiting..."  
  
"Yeah, all right," Ron replied, puzzled, and he flopped down next to Hermione on a couch, and pretended to read. Hermione took the news more graciously, and tried to interest Ron in a discussion about the Skulking Spell Snape had introduced them to earlier. Ron nodded, and pretended to listen, but he was watching Harry out of the corner of his eye.  
  
'Dear Harry,  
  
You have absolutely no reason to apologize for anything. I'm sorry  
you're having to go through this; it doesn't seem fair that, at your  
age, you have to shoulder so much. I feel I should tell you (it makes  
me uncomfortable, but, after all, you have been completely honest with  
me) that I would have no reason to judge you, as I am a homosexual  
myself.  
  
I urge you not to comply with any blackmail requests; I hardly need  
tell you how foolish it would be. And do not trust Malfoy; he would  
certainly reveal your preference once he was through tormenting you  
with it. I am afraid you may just have to accept the idea that people  
will know, and tell the people who matter to you before he gets the  
chance. Also, please inform Dumbledore if Malfoy is attempting to  
persuade you to do something illegal. Perhaps it would be best if you  
told Dumbledore, in any case.  
  
At any rate, as you may have guessed by Hedwig's speedy return, I am  
not far away. I have something I must do this evening, but I will come  
see you as quickly as I can— probably early in the morning. Until  
then, dear boy, chin up. Remember; you are a person of strength and  
integrity, and no one can take that from you.  
  
Ever your friend,  
Moony'  
  
"Er," Harry said when he realized Ron was still checking his progress on the letter. "Remus says he'll probably be back tomorrow morning, and we'll talk then. And, you know, hang in there and all. The rest is...just kind of personal," he told them, slipping the note in his pocket. Suddenly he realized something. "A LITTLE BOOKWORM!" he crowed, causing both Ron and Hermione to jump. "I thought he was talking about Hermione, but I knew she wouldn't do that, so it didn't make any sense!"  
  
"You all right, mate, or have you gone barmy on us again?" Ron interjected tactfully.  
  
"That page from my journal! I'd wondered how he got hold of it! I'd put it in my pocket, and when we were looking for spells to find the REST of the journal, you needed a bookmark, remember? And I reached into my pocket, and—"  
  
"Bloody idiot," Ron said fondly, and watched as Harry drew out Remus's note. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look before nearly tackling Harry and taking the paper away. "Nope! Sorry, mate," he said loudly over Harry's vociferous protests, "like giving you a pack of Fausto's Fire-Starters. You're just too dangerous."  
  
"Right," agreed Hermione, taking the note from Ron despite his frown. "I'll keep hold of it, and I won't read it, and I won't let anyone else read it. All right Harry? I think it's time I went back to being the sensible one for a while. All these calamities are making my head spin a bit." As if to illustrate her point, she shook it a bit, curls bouncing. "Look; Harry, if Lupin will be here in the morning, then I think we ought to wait until you've spoken with him before deciding what to do next. And in the meantime, we should all try to get to sleep. I have a sinking feeling that tomorrow is going to be another one of those days."  
  
Harry insisted that he would never be able to sleep, until Ron tried to put a calming charm on him, and drastically overdid it, causing Harry to fall down, half snoring, at their feet. Hermione tisked at Ron, and rolled her eyes when he gave a shurg and rueful smile. She had to help him carry the wizard up to his bed.  
  
Rather late the next morning, Harry woke with a blurry vision of Neville's round, anxious face looking down at him. "Really, Harry, I think it's SERIOUS," Neville insisted. Harry groped for his glasses, and swung his feet out of the bed.  
  
"Wazzit?" he muttered muzzily, trying to stretch some life back into his body.  
  
"Ron said to come and WAKE YOU," Neville told him exasperatedly, with the air of one who has had to repeat himself more than once.  
  
"Mngh. Oh. Merlin." He yawned hugely. "Did he say WHY?" Harry reached for his jeans and shoved a leg in, knowing that whatever it was, it was bad, and he should probably hurry. He stood up and had to make several tries before his aim was good enough to get the other leg started.  
  
"It's the Slytherins. They're talking about you." Harry promptly fell over. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Get Ron. Tell him to come up here, quickly. Er. Do you know what they're saying?" Harry struggled and flopped on the floor, desperately trying to become, well, pants-encased. He was blurrily aware that he probably looked like a green-eyed, disheveled-haired trout, wriggling about on the floor. It struck him that Severus would find it very funny, and he felt a sharp pang.  
  
"No one knows," Neville said, as he paused in the doorway. "But Draco Malfoy said he's got something to show everyone, starting with the Slytherins. And it's about you." He gave Harry a commiserating nod as he ran off to get Ron.  
  
Harry cursed, rolling around on the floor. He should have known Malfoy wasn't really going to give him time to think it over. He should have known that pale, perverted pain in the arse would go and pull something like this. It wasn't as though he was a man of his word.  
  
Ron and Hermione arrived a short while later, Hermione trying to calm Harry down, while Ron did his best to calm himself down. Ron was not pleased. He looked at Harry grimly, as Harry stuttered, trying to find a way to explain. And Harry was taking his Goddamn time about it; that was for sure.  
  
Harry wasn't sure he could do it. He fought with himself for a moment. He needed help. He needed to do something about Malfoy. And maybe...he needed to know if Ron was a good enough friend to accept him for the person he really was. "Look; I don't want to tell you this, but Malfoy. Malfoy's going to tell everybody anyway. Because he found that one page and...It's just that. It sort of has to do with. Er. About Snape. But more about me, really. It's. I'm gay. There. I said it. I'm-gay-I'm-gay-I'm-gay! I wrote about having a crush on Snape in my journal, and Malfoy found it."  
  
Ron had his hands over his ears and was singing loudly. "A WIZARD'S STAFF HAS A KNOB ON THE END, A KNOB ON THE END, A KNOB—"Hermione grabbed hold of one of his elbows and yanked his hand away from his ear.  
  
"Ronald Weasley! Take your hands away from your ears this instant!" He complied, glaring at Hermione as she continued her tirade. "You stop acting like a pig-ignorant pilchard! Harry's been a very good friend to you and you are just going to have to learn how to deal with this!"  
  
"I AM dealing with this," he roared at her. "It's called denial and it's a very effective coping tool! And it's worked damn well up to now; I could completely ignore the fact that Harry has been a drooling, starry-eyed, lovesick GOAT who kept making a complete ass of himself over Snape! But NOW I CAN'T! So I have to move onto the next step! Which is anger! I'll be sure to let you know when I'm good and ready for the next one, shall I? Harry, could Snape have given you a potion or something? A love potion? He would be just that evil! Come on, Harry, think about it! I mean; it doesn't make any sense at all, otherwise! I mean; even Draco Malfoy is. Is. Less PHYSICALLY repulsive! So it must have been a potion, designed to make you humiliate yourself, right?"  
  
"No, it most certainly was NOT!" Harry replied angrily, unconsciously adopting a Severus-sort-of-saying in a fit of offense that Ron would so blatantly call Severus unattractive. "It happened because he's funny and smart, and, in FACT, he's a pretty decent kisser, as well, I'll have you know."  
  
"AUUUGHHHH! Fine, you can have the denial, but did you have to take away my pitiful attempt at RATIONALIZATION, as well? It's completely heartless of you not to bargain with someone in the desperate throes of the third stage of grief!"  
  
"That's ENOUGH, Ron," Hermione admonished him. "You're just going to have to suck it up. Be a man about it. The Slytherins are out there—up to something! And we have to present a united front!"  
  
"I haven't even reached the fourth stage, yet!" Ron howled. His shoulders sagged. "Oh, very well. It's all hopeless, anyway. I could just cry." He gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "Fourth stage," he added in a disheartened tone. "Well, at least we know what we're up against with the Slytherins."  
  
"But I thought you said that page was completely innocuous, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed fretfully. "I never gave it a second thought, because you assured me it couldn't hurt anyone!"  
  
"That's before I saw it through Draco Malfoy's eyes," Harry explained. "It didn't name any names, is all. And it didn't talk about the DADA stuff. Just that. Um. I'm not sure I completely remember. That I like someone—a guy—a Slytherin. So I think that's all they know."  
  
"Whether or not they'll be able to infer it's Snape from that, we can only speculate," Hermione sighed. "We'll have to pray. And cross our fingers. And. Oh. I don't know. Hope for some magic or something? We'd better go and see what we can do about it all."  
  
"Oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," Harry whispered fretfully to himself, as he took the stairs two at a time. Ron and Hermione were practically running to keep up with him; well, no, Hermione was practically running, Ron was so tall he could more than match Harry stride for stride. He glared at a Death Eater who was giving Harry an odd look as he passed. No 'not' Death Eater; Slytherin, just a Slytherin...not 'necessarily' a Death Eater, at any rate. Perhaps a mini Death Eater, a Death Eater in training. A Death Eater's apprentice. Son of Death Eater. Bride of Death Eater. Oh, God, why wouldn't these thoughts stop?  
  
Because they were looking at him, Harry realized, as they entered the Great Hall. Not all of them, but a few. Enough. The Slytherins, giving him surprised, knowing, mocking or in a precious few cases, unbelieving looks. 'Oh, God. He'd already told some of them, 'course he did, the whole school should know by now—the whole school 'would' know by the end of the day.' But it hadn't said whom. That was what Harry kept grasping at; it 'had' said 'him' but never said 'whom.' So, there was a chance. Not for Harry, obviously, because that bit was all too evident and anyway they'd all jump at the chance to believe 'something' bad about him; all he could do was maybe influence the what.  
  
"I'm going to tell them," he announced to Ron and Hermione as they marched into the Great Hall.  
  
"Tell who? And, what, here?" Ron choked. A Death Eater—SLYTHERIN—snickered as he walked past the group. "You SHUT YOUR FILTHY BLACK-MAGIC-SPEWING GOB, you hear me?!" Ron exclaimed. "Or I'll. I'LL TELL FRED AND GEORGE YOU HAVE NAKED PICTURES OF THEM, AND JUST WAIT UNTIL THEY HEAR THAT! What?" He turned to Hermione, lowering his voice a little. "It doesn't matter if it's true," he insisted in a much quieter tone, "BECAUSE YOU WON'T BELIEVE THE KIND OF REVENGE THEY CAN DREAM UP!" The Slytherin—NOT Death Eater, Harry reminded himself—had long since scurried out of earshot. Even the Gryffindors were beginning to eye Ron dubiously.  
  
"Oh, just stop it," Harry told him. He dragged them over to the Gryffindor table. "Look, you'll both stand by me, right?" They nodded hard. "Because I can take whatever happens as long as I have the both of you." Hermione looked all teary at this, and Ron rolled his eyes again.  
  
"God, don't go getting HER going, now. I can't deal with BOTH of you having breakdowns at once!" Hermione slapped him on the arm, but was smiling a little. "Well. You just do what you have to do. Mind you, I haven't reached the fifth step, yet, so it might just be the despairing fatalism talking, but I say go ahead. We'll both be here, one to hex your detractors, and the other to lecture them on how to pronounce 'imperceptive ponce.'"  
  
Harry tried to laugh, and shook his head a little. What would the rest of the Gryffindors think? What would the rest of the school think? He couldn't worry about that now. Taking a deep breath, he shoved his way between Ginny and Dean Thomas, and clambered up onto the Gryffindor table. After casting Sonorous, he looked about the room, and waited until everyone was staring. Better to do it all at once, right? Ha ha, right, of course. Ha. And beat Malfoy to the punch. Right. Malfoy. He'd just have to gird his loins (whatever the hell that meant) and tell the awful truth.  
  
"I know you're all wondering what I'm doing. Well. I had to tell you. Erm." This was not a good way to start a speech. God, what he wouldn't give for Severus's talent with words. He was very careful not to look at the man as he continued. "It has come to my attention that Draco Malfoy has said he...um. Has said something about me, and that he has something to show you. Well. I don't care. Do you hear me? I don't care! Maybe you don't like it but you don't have to like it so if you don't like it sod you then! And I know all about what he knows, 'cause I knew it first. Um. Yeah. And it says something about a Slytherin and it says 'him' and. Wait." Harry was really losing the thread of the sermon here. "But anyway, I'm here to tell you that my sexual preference is probably different of yours, unless you're female. And you like boys," he clarified. Yes. Much better. "So, in conclusion, I am gay, and Draco Malfoy is a prick!" He saw Ron slap his hand to his head, and Harry paused to think over that last sentence more carefully.  
  
'Oh, SHIT.' It occurred to Harry that he had just irrevocably linked his name to Draco Malfoy. He had been talking about his sexual preference. THIS WAS NOT GOOD. People were going to 'talk.' And they were 'NOT' going to be charitable.  
  
This interesting little revelation led Harry to commit to ever greater heights of self-humiliation. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Lupin slipping into the room, and moving sinuously toward the staff table. He glanced at Snape, taking him as a weather vane. With temperatures reaching below zero, Harry felt a definite cold front coming on. "I mean, but. I wouldn't. With MALFOY. Because I don't care how good-looking he is, I wouldn't. Touch him! I mean; I can think of dozens of quicker, less painful way to end up dead! I mean!" Severus's cold front was now met by Harry's grasping desperation, coupled with strong overtones of idiocy, with a good likelihood of babbling like a muttonhead until he stuck a foot in his mouth. Harry tried desperately to undo the damage, and resplendently succeeded in doing more harm than he'd been trying to repair. "I'd never—I mean, a Slytherin! Well, I mean, no. I mean; yes! Blaise Zabini, sure, but he's hot, and it's. Not as though." Snape was glaring at him; he could feel it without even looking. He turned his head to see Lupin whisper something in Snape's ear, and Severus actually nodded and joined Lupin, leaving the table. "Um. So don't trust Draco Malfoy, and don't believe anything he has to say about me. Um. That's all, I guess," he finished lamely, and quickly got off the table.  
  
Well. That hadn't been too bad, had it? Only the worst experience of his whole bloody, awful, rotten life. Harry slid into the seat beside Ginny, hiding his head in his arms. The laughter was, if not building a spirit of union between the houses, certainly doing a job at bridging the gap.  
  
"That was bloody brill, Harry," Dean Thomas informed him, after he'd finished nearly choking on his toast. "When Seamus, here, came out, he wasn't half so funny!"  
  
Harry sat bolt upright. "Seamus is gay?"  
  
"Seamus is sitting right across from you," replied Seamus, "so you COULD just bloody well ask Seamus."  
  
"Oh. Ah. Are you?" Harry was shocked. He didn't even know there were such things as gay wizards.  
"Aye. But I'm sorry to have to inform you, I have my OWN Slytherin boy-toy, so I'm not at all interested in you, even if you are The Boy Who Lived to make a complete ass out of himself whilst coming out of the closet." He raised a glass of orange juice. "To Harry, the daftest, most mentally deficient queer ever to come out of Hogwarts," he toasted. This was taken up by the other Gryffindors with enthusiasm, making Harry's face flame as per usual. "Christ, Harry, did you think it was such a big deal?" Seamus asked him in his thick brogue. "You could've just asked someone about it."  
  
Harry tried not to let his jaw drop. "You mean there are other. Other gays? Other people—like us?"  
  
Seamus snorted, and was in dire pain when orange juice came out his nose. "God, Harry, there are gay EVERYTHINGS," Dean pointed out. "I've heard about gay dogs, and birds, and alligators! Hedgehogs!" He pounded the table. "What d'you reckon, Seamus, gay hedgehogs?" he wheezed. "Not! Not that there's anything wrong with that!" They broke down into whooping, hysterical laughter, while Ginny gazed on, clearly traumatized.  
  
"Look, Harry, it's not THAT big a deal," Seamus informed him once he'd recovered a little, and cleaned up some of his mess. "I mean, sure to the Slytherins...well—there aren't any GAY Slytherins, outside of Zabini, even though most of them probably are gay. That's the thing, see; they're so big on pureblood, it's considered a huge waste or something when a wizard doesn't marry. So a Slytherin with have a boy or two on the side, if he likes, but he doesn't admit it, and he isn't 'actually gay,' right?"  
  
Harry shook his head a little. "It's not fair!" Ginny suddenly burst out beside him. "All the good ones are taken or gay!" She got up, looking distressed.  
  
"What am I?" Dean exclaimed, looking offended. "Chopped liver? Stewed slugs?" He got up and went after Ginny, and Hermione and Ron took their places on either side of Harry.  
  
"I thought you were all freaked out about me being gay," Harry told Ron. "You acted like it was some big deal. Seamus says other wizards are gay."  
  
Ron shrugged. "I still don't want to think about it, much, but, really Harry, it wasn't so much the queerness that bothered me in the first place." He leaned over and hissed in Harry's ear, "It's the small fact that it's Snape you went queer over. Snape! You thought I was going to be happy about THAT?"  
  
(So, I almost got to Snape's POV. It begins in the next few paragraphs, but, once again, I wanted to give you what I had. I was just having so much fun with Ron this chapter that I got carried away. Some of you probably won't like me making Lupin gay, as well, but I needed someone in the roll for a matter of plot. Yeah, that damn thing. Anyhow, you'll just have to live with it. I've yet to decide whether to make Sirius, as well (I love Remus/Sirius, but that wasn't the point of this one) and I don't want to overdo it. Let me know what you all think about that, ok? I sure hope ShadowPhoenix posts today...Ohhhhh. I am so excited! (This is a quote from Grover on one of my old Sesame Street albums, I believe.) Anyway, tell me you like it, please! Please! StarryGazer) 


	23. And Without Further Ado, Some of Snape’s...

(Thanks to milgarion, Xicum, AmZ, livingwater, Pilas, Thaliae, Seall, dablksaiyangurl, Agar, SlytherinRomantic, Jen, Dominic R., and Chantelli as always! Along with everyone else...I would like to respond personally to each and every great review, but it would take me away from writing the fic, and I'm pretty sure you'd all rather have the updates...  
  
Adele Sparks—I hope you continue to like my Blaise, I must confess I made him rather...how shall I put this...bottom? in this fic. Just so we can see how Harry acts when he has (or thinks he has) control. ;)  
  
Anomy Mouse—Yes, God bless Nanny Ogg and the pubs of AM. Have you ever read the crossover, HP and the Improbable Use of Chaos Theory? It's right here on ff.net, and I think it's bloody HYSTERICAL. O'course, you do realize I'm odd.  
  
Harper—Ron's stages of 'coming to terms with having a friend in love with Snape' (aka grief) were one of the most fun things I've ever written. I'm so glad you liked it. Funny, but I didn't know what to do with Ron in the beginning. So I just made him someone I would like! :)  
  
AND, this one is for Menecarkawan, shiroiryu144, Mercury Sands and the rest of you nagging, impatient harpies who make me want to tear my hair out with your incessant demands to know what the Man is thinking! Just kidding, not that bad, and I adore you all. Anyhow, since you asked for it...)  
  
Chapter 26: And Without Further Ado, Some of Snape's Point of View  
  
Lupin dragged Snape down the hall, looking anxious, until they got to the dungeons. "That little brat Malfoy found out somehow that Harry was gay, and BLACKMAILED him into this," Lupin informed the Potions Master in an aggravated tone.  
  
"So I had surmised, before you so impatiently dragged me from the room," Severus retorted dryly. He tried not to look longingly at his liquor cabinet. It was not even nine in the morning, and he had classes to teach; surely he had better control than that. "It would not have happened if Potter had been discreet enough that he didn't actually arm Draco with the knowledge," he added inattentively.  
  
"Severus Snape."  
  
The growl in the words brought his mind right back to the present, where he focused on Lupin's narrowed eyes, seeing the amber flash and glitter with chilling detail. How many years had it been since he had seen those eyes, not lit with mildness or knowledge, but with wild, animal madness? He suppressed a shiver and forced his eyebrow up. That was always effective, and Lupin seemed to calm down a little.  
  
"Harry shouldn't have to hide what he is," the man told him firmly. "He doesn't deserve to feel ashamed of who he is."  
  
No, indeed. It was Severus that deserved that, though he didn't say so.  
  
"And I'm going to stand behind him fully. I've told him about my own preference. He needs to know that there are other people like that, and that he is not a freak." His voice seemed to hold just a hint of question, and Severus gave him his coldest look.  
  
"Well, be his gay icon if you must, but rest assured that I will NOT have him looking up to ME for support or counsel. If you or Black never explained the Birds and the Bees to him, he certainly isn't going to hear it from me. And you'd better remember that it is none of Mister Potter's business WHAT I am, and I do not intend to tell him." Severus sniffed, looking away. "If that was the reason you took my time and attention away from my meal, you will simply have to live with the disappointment. I trust that WAS the reason?"  
  
The werewolf was looking irritated. "Don't play coy. You know perfectly well why I really needed to talk to you. I KNOW what's going on."  
  
Snape felt a lead weight drop into his stomach, and he watched Lupin, for the first time, with something resembling real fear. He couldn't know. Potter MIGHT have been stupid enough to tell the man, but Severus doubted Lupin would have been so calm if he knew the licentious thoughts Severus was harbouring toward his pseudo-godson. On the other hand, Lupin was often serene during the most bizarre circumstances, so it was quite possible he was merely handling it with aplomb. Severus fought down queasy guilt. "I...see. You know?" He wished he knew whether the man planned on tearing him to shreds during the next full moon. If he knew he was about to die anyway, Severus felt he might just reconsider prowling into the Gryffindor dorms one night to steal Harry away and ravish him. Just once couldn't possibly hurt the boy. Right.  
  
"I know that YOU'RE the head of Slytherin house, and I know that it's YOUR job to spy and keep an eye on the Death Eaters, AND their children. I know that it's YOUR job to keep us apprised of Voldemort's plots."  
  
Severus scowled. "In the first place, I'll have you know that not every Slytherin child happens to be a bloodthirsty monster. And even those that ARE, are not necessarily in the employ of the Dark Lord, and they do not deserve to be judged by what they are at this tender age. They little merit the stigma or exile that come from being a dangerous criminal, when they are not yet wise nor mature enough to realize the difference between the supposed 'light' and much maligned 'dark.' And secondly, I hardly think the Dark Lord has hatched some evil scheme that he felt only Draco Malfoy could achieve, and by outing The Boy Who Lived, no less. Or blackmailing him into outing himself, however you choose to look at it. I'm sure Draco had no truly insidious plan; well, no more than would have your dear Sirius Black, at any rate."  
  
Lupin reddened. "Well. I suppose you're right about the children of Slytherin house; I was out of line to suggest that being one thing naturally meant being the other. But I believe you may be wrong about Voldemort. And even if you're not, Malfoy could easily attempt to gain the man's aid now, all out of misplaced schoolboy pride and vengeance. And you're wrong if you think he's not dangerous. He's got far too much self- respect, and without reason. That kind of pride is always dangerous."  
  
"Fine. If you truly think Voldemort may have been involved in today's little fiasco, I'll arrange a meeting with him as soon as possible. Though certainly he would not choose to tell me, I have no doubt there is much to be gleaned from seeing his reaction to the information." He sighed tiredly. "He will have expected me to report such a thing, in any case." Lupin nodded gravely. "You'll have to take over detention again, if you'll be here," Severus added.  
  
"I apologize, but I'm actually supposed to be out of the country shortly. I shouldn't even be here now, but I couldn't let Harry face this alone."  
  
Severus humphed moodily at that. "Still, I suppose there is always Filch. At any rate, I do not intend to be gone more than a night," he went on, almost as though he were making an effort at justifying his absence.  
  
Remus felt bad for the children, and found himself sending letters and changing plans in his head. "Well, if it's only for tonight, I suppose I could stay that long," he relented. "But when I'm gone, I'm setting you the task of keeping watch over Harry. No. Don't even open your mouth, because I'm not going to listen to it. Sirius is—is dead, and so is James, and I'm a poor substitute for either of them, especially considering I'm hardly ever here. I'm not asking you to be a father figure to him, or anything else for that matter. I just want someone watching." 'Damn it, Lupin, I've been watching closer and longer than anyone. I certainly don't need being told.' "You've the sharpest eyes of any that came out of our year, and I demand your promise that you keep them on him—and out for anything that might harm him—while I'm not here. Don't even think about refusing," he added flatly.  
  
"I certainly will not purposely turn my back while the boy dies," Snape rejoined, "but you'd just better keep in mind what a trial he actually IS. What are harmless, mischievous, cute little adventures to YOU," 'Cute to whom, Severus?' "are frustrating, risky, heart-stopping MISadventures to ME. He puts on that cloak and does whatever he damn well pleases, come hell, high water, or hexes. He DOESN'T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY. And I'm just too old to keep up with him," Snape grated as an afterthought. Well, it was perfectly true, wasn't it?  
  
Lupin sighed. "I'll have a talk with him about that. If it's one thing I know all about, it's how to handle massive amounts of guilt. And while he's impulsive, he isn't naïve. He knows perfectly well what Voldemort is capable of; he's seen the effects often enough. But you're absolutely right, and I'll have a long talk with him later today."  
  
"See that you do. God knows I've tried everything I could think of, but he certainly doesn't listen to me." Severus had to bite his lip from adding, 'the impossible imp,' because he knew it would come out sounding like an endearment. Maybe it was.  
  
"Perhaps you could come with me," Lupin suggested, "when I speak with him. If I tell him that I expect him to respect your authority and that what you say goes, and do so in your presence, perhaps he'll realize how serious I am. Besides, you really are more perceptive than I am when it comes to people's responses, and I'd like to be able to hear your take, afterwards, on how well you think Harry understands what I've said, and that I mean it."  
  
More time with Harry. Joy. Except, of course, the youth probably loathed him right now, and, moreover, he deserved it. He hadn't been able to look him in the eye since it happened; the boy was too transparent, and the viridian pain was more than Severus could bear. "Fine," he sighed, and was pleased to note that he sounded suitably reluctant. It was bad enough that he actually felt badly about the whole thing; he could hardly stand the thought of anyone KNOWING about it. "If you absolutely insist."  
  
Ron and Hermione got a break from Harry's problems for a little while because, during lunch, Seamus dragged him off to meet 'some of the other glitts.' He was obviously feeling a little bad about reacting so flippantly to Harry's big speech, and tried to make it up to him. Seamus—another Gryffindor, the same year as Harry, and someone who grew up with one Muggle parent—was the ideal guide to the world of the gay at Hogwarts.  
  
"Are there many of us?" Harry asked interestedly. He'd never imagined he'd be having a discussion like this.  
  
"Nah. A handful or so of each house are queer, 'cept with the Slytherins. But, like I said, they're not 'gay,' they're just 'morally impaired.' They'll fuck anything that stands still long enough. Oy, Jack! Harry, this is my boyfriend. I think you've met him." He grinned widely when Harry's eyes went round with surprise.  
  
"You're gay, too then?" he exclaimed without thinking. It figured. The only one of them that had been comfortable with everyone in the room calling them fairies. "Oh. But most Slytherins do that anyway, I guess, huh? The gay thing."  
  
Jack nodded seriously. "Though I doubt that I'm as melodramatically gay as you are," he parried. "I really would never have guessed—you hid it so well. I imagine the horrible, shapeless wardrobe was all part of the disguise?"  
  
Harry ducked his head, grimacing. "No, that's just what I own."  
  
"We will definitely have to do something about that," Jack responded, and Harry looked up to see the young man grinning, hazel eyes flashing with good humor, as Seamus nodded decisively.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"We can't have you going about looking like that," Seamus explained. "You're one of us, now. You have to really look your absolute best—"  
  
"—endimanché—"Jack interjected.  
  
"—because how you look will have repercussions on all of us. The appearance you present will affect everyone's impression of us, as well."  
  
Just what Harry needed. More pressure. "Because I'm The Boy Who Lived," he intoned dolefully.  
  
"No," Seamus replied insistently, "because you're queer. We have an image to maintain! Frankly, right now you bring down the value of the whole neighborhood. But don't worry; we'll get you a book on it or something. Now, come on, there are other poufs for you to meet."  
  
After introducing Harry round, Seamus assigned a queer boy to sit next to Harry in each of that day's classes, and explain what things were like. After all, lunch really didn't last very long, and Harry had swarms of questions floating around his brain.  
  
By the end of classes, Harry was having difficulty assimilating everything he'd been told. He'd learned that there were some gays in every house, that nobody thought much about it, that they grouped themselves by interest and had 'nights out' together, and that most of them found Harry very charming and his speech highly amusing. The interests they convened over were even more shocking; there was a group of several boys that were playfully monikered The Little Red Riding Hoods or, more familiarly The Reds, because of their captivation with, of all people, Professor Lupin. Harry's mind went numb at this, and refused to process the information, lest the man who'd taken over the duties of being a Godfather to him adopt an aspect likely to traumatize him well into adulthood. There was a smaller group dubbed The Black Birds who had an obsession with Snape. Harry didn't meet any of them, but wasn't surprised hear they were mostly Slytherins and, to Seamus's view, masochists. It was a real wrencher to hear about it, though; on the one hand, it was a relief to know he wasn't a complete freak of nature, but on the other, how DARE they fantasize about his...whatever—and if any of them laid a HAND on Severus they would PAY.  
  
All in all, Harry learned more in one day than he ever had before. He'd also been reprimanded by two teachers (Binns and McGonagall) for talking while they were trying to lecture. He just couldn't help it; there were so many things he didn't know, and so many shockers to come to grips with, that he really couldn't concentrate on his classes at all. He was devoutly thankful that today, at least, he didn't have Potions, although he was aware that he'd have to face Snape later on. He hoped the man was good and mad. He was sick of Severus's insipid façade. He hoped he could get the professor to yell at him or, better yet, insult him.  
  
He met Ron and Hermione at dinner, and discussed some of the things he'd learned. Ron was taking it all as well as he could. He just let Harry know whenever a subject became too frightening or explicit by clapping his hands over his ears and singing loudly. Hermione thwacked him several times, trying to get him to stop, but Harry insisted he didn't mind. Though eventually this chased off everyone sitting near them.  
  
For the most part, both Ron and Hermione were extremely relieved; they were both getting questions and comments, but it wasn't nearly as bad as Harry, for one, had expected. Some people were even supportive, although, as Ron noted, he HAD had to hex two people, and punch one Slytherin in the nose. Hermione hadn't actually hit anyone, though she assured Harry that anyone who complained to her got a good old-fashioned disapproving lecture.  
  
When the three of them finally ambled upstairs, accompanied by Ginny, Seamus, and Colin Creevy, they slowed when they saw an unfamiliar figure dressed in black, leaning casually against the wall beside the Fat Lady. Well, unfamiliar to see just outside of the Gryffindor common room, at any rate. Standing with one shoulder against the wall, legs crossed, just so, at the ankle, somehow looking as though he was competing for the 'Most Stylish Slacker' award, and smiling cat-like all the while, was Blaise Zabini.  
  
Seamus and Hermione exchanged a knowing smile. Blaise began to saunter toward Harry, and Hermione tugged on Ron's arm, saying, "Let's just leave the two of them alone, shall we?" Which incited another round of 'A Wizard's Staff Has a Knob on the End,' while Ron clapped his hands over his ears and cringed. As Hermione dragged Ron through the Portal, Harry vaguely heard her saying something like, "You DO understand the connotations of that song, don't you? Because it's actually..." followed by Ron's strangled scream, muffled by the closing portrait.  
  
"Er. Um. Hi," Harry said, swallowing repeatedly. Blaise was even shorter than he was, so why the hell did Harry feel so intimidated? Aside from the unnerving smile on his lips, there was nothing even remotely threatening about the Slytherin. His dark curls framed his face like a halo, and his wide, blue eyes, dark lashes, and perfect complexion only served to heighten the sense of innocence about him. He really was quite gorgeous, and Harry was having difficulty fighting his hormones for control of his body. He took a nervous step back.  
  
"Hello, Harry," Blaise replied in a soft voice, and Harry couldn't repress a shiver. This was the boy so many wrote about on bathroom walls? The one with a reputation as big as Hogwarts itself? Harry couldn't believe it. He didn't know Blaise at all well, but he looked like a Christmas angel. Dressed in rather tight, black pants, but still. "I heard what you said about me at breakfast." He continued to approach Harry, getting quite close, and Harry, without thinking, backed away until he was against the opposite wall. Blaise gave him a rather coquettish smile. "Did you mean it?"  
  
"Erm." Wow. Harry wasn't certain he'd be able to get any words out at all. His palms were sweating, and he couldn't deny that he was excited to have one of the hottest guys at Hogwarts paying him such close attention. Another part of him was feeling tremendous guilt, because it was Severus he wanted, wasn't it? Only Severus, and no one else would do. "Well, sure," he said, more confidently than he felt. "Who doesn't think you're hot? I mean. And unlike Malfoy, you've never been completely horrible to me, either."  
  
Blaise smiled luminously at this, and leaned forward, resting his hand flat on the wall next to Harry's head. It occurred to Harry that there was less than a foot between them, and it would be rather easily breached. "You mean, like outing you in front of the whole school?" Blaise responded teasingly. 'You're quite sure Severus is the one you want?' a treacherous little voice inside Harry's head inquired. 'Even though he'll never want you back?'  
  
"Er. Yes. Like that. Or calling me demeaning things like the Gryffindor Whore." Harry agreed somewhat breathlessly.  
  
"Mmm. Or posting papers in the Slytherin common room with your handwriting all over them, proclaiming to have a thing for some anonymous, dark Slytherin?" Blaise chewed his lower lip seductively, and Harry thought, 'Oh dear.'  
  
Snape rounded the corner with Lupin, and almost jerked to a complete halt when he saw the tableau before him; Harry, back flat against the wall, pressed up against it in defense, and Blaise, leaned up close to him, head tilted so he could look up into Harry's eyes, and that cherubic, false smile on his face. Well. This should hardly be a surprise. The boy wasn't called the Slytherin Slut for nothing. Severus's lips pinched themselves tightly together. Zabini was in for a surprise, if he thought himself guileful enough to bed Potter. Harry did, on occasion, suffer from bouts of mental delay, but Severus was certain he was by no means a COMPLETE cretin. Snape watched Zabini's eyes flutter vacantly, and he twisted a curl around a finger of the hand that wasn't trapping Harry. 'Oh, that's right, I'm entirely harmless, me. Hah. No one could fail to see through that transparent innocuousness.'  
  
Severus felt his gut twist as Harry shuffled his feet and gave Zabini a shy, crooked grin in return. 'Well, perhaps not 'no one.' Which is the best and worst characteristic of Harry's. That utterly irrational desire to believe the best of horrible people. Like me.'  
  
"Ahem. Harry?" Lupin broke in, clearing his throat, and the boy twitched guiltily. "I need to have a word with you." Severus crossed his arms tightly to hold in a raging, completely unwarranted jealousy. He had no right. He'd just have to keep reminding himself of that.  
  
"All right, Professor. Um. I mean Lupin. Remus," Harry corrected himself, feeling like a complete jackass. This was harder than it had any right to be, and could he help it if he found it hard to think clearly with the man he adored, and the most beautiful guy in the school both standing there looking at him? Well, Severus was scowling, naturally. Harry was inordinately pleased by that.  
  
He tried to look laid-back as he smiled at Remus. Remus looked from Harry to Blaise, and cleared his throat. Severus began to walk toward Harry, looking menacing, but Lupin put a hand on the man's shoulder, and this seemed to stop him. "I think I should have a quick word with Professor Snape, first, if you don't mind," he told them, and Harry nodded uncertainly.  
  
"Perhaps this was not the best idea," Remus was telling Severus. "It looks as though Harry's progressed far beyond where I'd expect him to be, and I think. Well. I'm just going to have to give him The Talk, that's all. I know they're much more sophisticated than we were at their age, but I'm fairly certain Harry isn't nearly as sophisticated as Blaise Zabini. Why don't I just get it all over with, and then I'll come and tell you what happened?"  
  
Harry watched as Remus leaned over and once again whispered something in Snape's ear, and he felt a growing tightness in his stomach. What was going on? Snape merely nodded irritably at Remus's words, and began walking away. Harry's excitement waned a little.  
  
"Look, Harry, I'd better go," Blaise was saying. "But maybe I'll...we'll...you know, see each other tomorrow?"  
  
Harry flushed, and wished desperately he had more control over it. There had to be a spell of some sort! First thing tomorrow, he'd start hunting for it. "Oh! Yeah, I'd, um, like that," he responded, surprised to realize it was true. Blaise winked at him before leaving, and Harry watched admiringly as he walked away.  
  
As Severus stalked away, he couldn't help but keep looking back over his shoulder. Harry wasn't watching, anyway. He was, well. Watching the rather more well-used piece of Zabini's anatomy, as the boy sashayed toward the dungeons, taking an alternate route from Severus's. One of the teens wasn't oblivious, then. The wrong one. He walked all the way back to his rooms feeling heartsick and disgruntled. Once he got there, he drank nearly an entire half of a bottle of gin.  
  
As he lied down in bed, images of Harry kept springing, unbidden, to his mind. Harry smiling at him. Harry laughing. Harry looking frightened and breathless and delectable. Harry's lips on his. Oh. God. He HAD to stop doing this. "I am NOT a lecherous pervert," he announced loudly and drunkenly.  
  
His mirror, which was in all ways a Slytherin mirror, and therefore more cynical and ruthless than most, immediately replied, "Uh-huh. You just keep telling yourself that."  
  
Severus snarled. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'seven years of bad luck?'" he growled.  
  
"Have YOU ever heard the expression, 'big shard of glass in your eyeball?'" it retorted scornfully, and Severus grunted angrily, put the pillow over his head, and tried to fall asleep.  
  
(I hope everyone liked it, and that Sev's POV lived up to the wait! But what are you idiots doing still reading my fic? You're done with the chapter, go check out ShadowPhoenix! She's right here on FF! Her sequel to Fine Lines—Shades of Grey—has two new chapters! And they are WONDERFUL! They made ME squee, and I don't hold with such nonsense. (hee hee) PLUS, it was her snarky Snape that inspired me to write this fic, because I so wanted one of my very own. So if you truly love me, you should thank her for being my idol. GO ON! Glorious snarkiness awaits you! Er. But come home to me when you're finished, right? I don't mind SHARING, but I'm not actually giving any of you away! Love and happy sighs from StarryGazer) 


	24. Twisted Minds Leave Them Twisting in the...

(Okay, note to all: WARNING, this one contains serious ANGST. And I'm so happy most of you seem to like Blaise, because he is going to be around for a few chaps, doing his best to throw a monkey wrench in things. This is plot again, I'm afraid, even if it is secondary plot. For those of you get frustrated with this; A) You are supposed to be frustrated. Seriously frustrated, by the end, especially with those, 'almosts' and 'near-misses'. and B) Keep in mind he's there for many reasons; I am your omnipotent, mystical author and I'm not giving them to you, you have to wade through and decipher them yourself. But one mild hint: Why would Blaise get involved with Harry? Keep in mind what he is (and yes, this answer is ambiguous because it is multi-faceted.). We've already gotten an idea of Blaise's interests in the past.  
  
Shiroiryu1—The jealousy factor is important, but he's also serving other purposes. I haven't decided about whether I would traumatize you all (and Ron, and Snape) by having Harry sleep with him. That's not the focus. One of the important points to note here is that Harry is not yet sixteen, and, although none of us particularly view it that way, a baby. He's completely innocent, and I just didn't want this to be your typical chan-slash, where Harry is, if you're being honest about it, completely taken advantage of because he has no idea what he's doing. I just will not write that in this story. It has nothing to do with any of you, just my integrity and commitment to this story. I might write something like that some other time, but in this one, I was looking for something specific. Huge amounts of sexual tension, yes, and eventual fireworks, but HERE IS THE IMPORTANT SENTENCE: When Harry and Snape get together, I want it to feel closer to Harry having an almost-equal footing, where he can hold his own and is not going into this blindly. I like the other stuff, too, but this one has to end with both characters respecting themselves and each other. Understood? But no, it won't be pure Blaise. Blaise is there, at least in part, to drive you absolutely crazy. Because YOU know what he is. ; P  
  
AmZ—I've known a couple of guys that were KIND OF Blaise-y. Jim Stiller, sixth grade, seemed to drive the girls just crazy. I kind of got it, but it seemed so...man, where's your dignity? And why are you looking for it in his pants? And then Matt Winkleman, highschool—we ALL adored him—but he was totally nice, and didn't have a clue. So that wasn't so Blaise-y, was it?  
  
Adele Sparks—Why yes, I AM the update Queen. Where the hell did I put my scepter? Oh, yeah, I was mad at Sev for his earlier behaviour, and I rammed it—er. Never mind. ;)  
  
Agar—Once bitten twice shy. Just don't kiss her on the lips. :P  
  
Catsncritters—Only had time to start on yours last night, but I did enjoy it! But it needs to be read slowly. I was confusing the hell out of my self.  
  
SlytherinRomantic and Anomy Mouse—The stuff with the mirror was one of those things that come to me just before I drift off to sleep, and then I jump out of bed and jot it down. Feeling brilliant.  
  
And to everyone else: well. Y'all said you wanted Snape to pay for his cruelty to Harry. Bless your twisted little minds. SO don't you DARE blame me for giving it to you. I didn't leave off of Harry, though, of course. Because I have a plan! (Trumpets and whatnot in the background.) But here is a helping of ANGST, with more ANGST on the side, topped with some yummy ANGST, and a sprinkling of ANGST. StarryGazer)  
  
Chapter 27: Twisted Minds Leaves Them Twisting in the Wind  
  
Harry followed Remus into the common room, feeling strange. Blaise Zabini had been. Well, had kind of been. It sure SEEMED like he had been...FLIRTING with Harry. Harry didn't know what to make of it. He was simultaneously intrigued and terrified. He was a Slytherin, like Malfoy. But also like Severus. And he'd been nicer to Harry than either ONE of THEM had been. If Severus REALLY didn't want him...but no. The way Harry's heart lurched painfully told him it didn't matter; he couldn't stop loving Severus, even if Severus could never be remotely fond of him. Thinking of the man shut off his enthusiasm, and made him miserable and unsure again. He really had thought the man might...have had some, slight interest in him. He just couldn't understand the kiss, otherwise. The hands across his hair, those could have been purely imaginary, but the kiss! It was the most real, incredible thing Harry had ever experienced. The man had to have felt SOMETHING.  
  
Remus asked to speak with Harry privately in the dorm room, so Harry complied, puzzled. Why had Remus brought Snape with him, and then sent him away? What had he whispered to Snape? Why had Snape left, without so much as a snide comment to Lupin in return? He watched Remus as the man settled himself unsurely across from him.  
  
Lupin seemed to stare at him with those bright, yellow eyes for a long time, before suddenly putting forth a question. "Harry, do you know where babies come from?"  
  
Harry was, for a moment, simply shocked. Then he collapsed to the floor, laughing himself sick. He heard Lupin gave a tired sigh, but it was still some time before he could get himself under control. "Oh, my God," he gasped, wiping away tears, "that's the funniest thing you have EVER SAID. I just. Can't believe it. Do I know where. Do I know. Where," he choked out between chuckles.  
  
"Harry..." Remus admonished, sounding worried. "This is really quite serious. Please try to be mature about this."  
  
Harry nodded. He took several breaths before speaking. "Lupin...you don't have to teach me about sex. Um. I mean, not the basics or anything. I know." He swallowed, becoming embarrassed. "I mean; I know pretty much where everything is supposed to go and all. And...some of the places they CAN go." He looked away, blushing furiously.  
  
"Yes, well, knowing and having experienced it are two entirely different things, and besides that; whatever knowledge you have is only as good as the place you get it."  
  
Harry shot him a look. "Ron does HAVE five older brothers, you know."  
  
"Yes, I suppose that is a good start. Still, I don't want you having any...misinformation. There are consequences to sexual exploration, even in the wizarding world." Remus looked anxiously at Harry, trying to will the boy to sober up.  
  
"Are you worried I'll end up barefoot and pregnant?" Harry responded with a snort. "No, no, I know. It's just that...wow. This is really WEIRD, that's all. I mean, I never thought I'd hear you bring something like this up. But then, this whole day has been kind of surreal."  
  
"I realize that. It's part of the reason I'm doing this. It's only that...Mr. Zabini is..." Harry flushed even more brightly than before. Remus was giving him a lecture about sex because of Blaise Zabini? Did he really think Harry could...well, given the opportunity, perhaps. More to the point, did that mean he really thought BLAISE would...? Wow. "Things have changed a lot since I was your age. When I first told my friends I was gay, it was...a different time and place. Mind you, my friends didn't seem to take it quite as well as yours did."  
  
"Was my dad angry?" Harry wondered. This was something he'd been thinking about a lot.  
  
"Not really. He was more...pleased to have less competition in the wooing of women, I suppose you might say. He rather thought Lily had a bit of a thing for me in the earlier years. She may have done, I really don't know. But in any case, he already had to outdo Sirius, who was considered by many to be THE catch of the school. So your father was really quite pleased about it, which would have been fine, if he hadn't been quite so vocal as well." He gave a small smile to Harry's questioning look. "Ah. As I recall, it was. Let's see, at supper in the Great Hall, just after Charms, I was having mashed potatoes with my meal...Your father sits up when your mother enters the room, and yells, 'Oy! Evans! DID YOU KNOW THAT REMUS LUPIN IS A GREAT BOY-BUGGERING ARSE BANDIT?' I know I was having mashed potatoes because I went to smack my head against the table, and ended up with a face full of them. Yes, taken all around, that WAS a good evening."  
  
Harry was aghast. "What did people say? What did Sirius say?"  
  
"Well, James managed to convince most people that it was just a prank, so no great harm was done, but I did endure a lot of teasing. I wasn't ready to come out, at that age. I didn't actually begin acknowledging it in public at all, until after graduation. And as for Sirius...well. He wasn't actually speaking to me at the time, so he wasn't present during the event. He didn't. He didn't have as easy of a time accepting it, that's all. And it was only a couple of weeks after this, after he'd finally started to come round, that he caught me kissing Severus Snape..."  
  
Harry's jaw dropped, and his eyes bulged, and it might all have seemed comical to someone, but not to Harry, because he felt too much astonishment and envy to consider his own reaction, and not to Lupin, who was somewhat self-involved and, after all, reliving a very painful and embarrassing moment.  
  
"Er. It just sort of...happened. We were study partners in Potions, and we got along well—somewhat well, I suppose, this IS Severus Snape we're discussing—and we would once in a while hang about together in the library, and...I don't know. It just sort of happened. I don't think either one of us actually MEANT anything by it. It was over with very quickly, and we both sort of jumped back, really awkward and surprised...and then. A book fell off the table, and we both jumped again, and he said he had to go, and I said I had to go, and he left, and, well. I started to leave, and ran smack into a very pissed-off Sirius Black. Who was absolutely convinced that Snape was...molesting me. Stalking me. Sirius Black who, in retribution, tricked Snape into going to the Shrieking Shack." Remus sighed. "Sirius had SAID he was all right with me, but I don't think he could handle actually SEEING what I was first hand."  
  
"Sirius tricked Snape into doing that because—because he saw you—you. You kissed him and he kissed you back?" Harry gaped in disbelief. But they HATED one another. They all had. Hadn't they?  
  
"Oh, Harry," Remus said, misinterpreting Harry's vexation. "Sirius would NOT have disapproved of you. He loved you very much. And what he did to Severus, he did as an upset, impulsive teenager. After he matured a little, he truly no longer had any difficulty accepting me or my lifestyle. He would still be proud of you, Harry."  
  
Harry blinked a little, brows lowered. "That's...good," he said slowly, thinking about other things. When Lupin first arrived this morning, he went straight to Snape. He didn't even speak to Harry first. They'd come upstairs together. Lupin had put his hand on Snape's arm, and Snape hadn't even flinched. Had hardly noticed. And then Lupin had whispered in his ear, and Snape went away, as quiet as a lamb. Harry was beginning to feel very angry.  
  
"So what else did you need to tell me?" he grated straightforwardly. They'd come to tell him about their...relationship? So he would, what, feel understood? Like he had someone to talk to when he needed it? How could Snape agree to do that, when not long ago, he was kissing Harry in a coat closet? 'Maybe that's why he was scowling...because Lupin forced him to do it, and he was worried I'd tell...' Harry bit his lip hard, brooding.  
  
Lupin, thinking Harry was finally taking the subject with as much somberness as it deserved, barely noticed. He began detailing the obstacles and rewards two wizards face when beginning a relationship.  
  
Harry hardly heard a word, though he nodded and tried to look at Lupin from time to time. 'So THAT'S why he didn't want me,' Harry thought sadly. 'He was in love with someone else the whole time...How could he do that to me, though? He said he could tell I had feelings for him. How could he string me along that way, knowing all the while he was...what, banging my erstwhile Godfather? Jesus.' Harry felt ill, and turned his face away, knowing that Lupin would only think he was discomfited by the topic of the lecture. 'If you're really like that, then you're not really the person I fell in love with. You're just a stranger, and the person I love is a myth. And then you walk away like you don't even give a damn! Well, all right for you, then Severus Snape! If you really are such a complete prick, if you really did just USE me that way, then fine! Maybe I WON'T care about you anymore! Maybe I'll just see if Blaise is capable of showing some genuine interest!'  
  
Severus woke just before one in the morning to someone pounding thunderously on the door to his chambers. Still somewhat inebriated, half- awake, and very peeved, he went to answer it. He glared blearily at the werewolf, who was looking at him with concern.  
  
"I've been waiting for almost ten minutes!" Lupin informed him. "Why weren't you answering?"  
  
"Sleep," he answered shortly, and stumbled back inside his chambers, leading Lupin into the Study. "What happened?"  
  
"Well," Remus began, sounding pleased, "I really think I got through to him! He was taking me very seriously by the end. And I told him he absolutely had to listen to you in my absence. He didn't like it; he scowled at me, but I was firm! I think it had the right affect."  
  
"Hmph," Severus responded, and then gave a great yawn.  
  
"God, Severus, I can smell the alcohol on your breath from...well. Yawning that way, I, personally, could probably have smelled you from across the castle. Why did you imbibe quite so much?" he queried as tactfully as possible.  
  
Severus shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it. Then he realized the man was still staring at him expectantly. He wasn't going to leave it be. 'Because I'm so sexually repressed I thought I might explode? Yes, that WOULD go over well. Because it helped me pass out. Which was not a great improvement, as I was having labyrinthine dreams; scrambled, unsettling, kaleidoscopic visions of students in their first explorations of coupling...of Mister Potter and myself, in flagrante dilecto, or perhaps seducto; what's the difference...of me ripping Zabini's heart out and holding it up, still beating, before his face...' "Don't quite know," he responded. "I was having difficulty falling asleep." 'I was too anxious about whether Harry would plague my life forever, dooming me to miss what I can never touch again. What self-pitying bullshit you're concocting tonight, Severus.'  
  
"Are you worried about meeting with Voldemort?" Lupin asked with quiet heed.  
  
'Almighty God, I'd actually completely forgotten.' "Yes, I suppose it does weigh on my mind. What the hell took you so long, by the way? I'll have to be leaving soon! No doubt Mister Malfoy has directed an owl to his father; if the Dark Lord is contacted by Lucius, he'll be quite angry with me for not having reported it first."  
  
"So lie," Lupin shrugged a little. "That's in the job description, isn't it? Tell him Dumbledore cornered you and wanted to know how Malfoy got the information."  
  
'Brilliant. So he could ask me the same question. "You misapprehend the mechanics of dealing with the Dark Lord. I cannot lie. I may merely...be selective about what truths he gleans from me. Which takes far more skill, believe me." Severus shuddered a little at the thought.  
  
"You ought to be going," Lupin noted with some trepidation. Severus merely nodded in acknowledgement, and stood to walk the man to the door. "Harry's got a Quidditch match tomorrow," Lupin told him. "He's quite looking forward to it. I hope you'll be there to keep an eye on him."  
  
"As the match is against my own house, and as I volunteered to referee for that very reason, I am well aware of Mister Potter's upcoming athletic competition," Snape replied as snidely as he could drudge up the energy to say.  
  
Remus smiled wearily in return. "God speed, Severus," he told the man, and left to seek his own chambers for the night.  
  
Harry woke bright and early the next day, which felt like a miracle, considering that just over twenty four hours ago, he was convinced he wouldn't live this long. He jumped out of bed and ran to the showers, heart pumping strongly. Slytherin match today. Mustn't lose. Hadn't had his mind in the last few games, actually lost one. This time he'd show them. He'd show Snape. That cold-hearted bastard. He ground his teeth at the thought of the man, while rinsing the soap off. Quite different than most of his previous procedures, when Snape was in mind and he was in the shower. Yes, he was turning over a new leaf. No more begging-for-it, kick-me-while-I'm- down Harry Potter. Starting today, he was Harry Potter in-control-of- things. Indifferent-and-blasé Harry Potter. Yeah.  
  
When he and his teammates departed the locker rooms and headed toward the field, Harry became aware of three things in quick succession. Number one; Blaise was lounging about in the shadows just inside the exit. Number two; Snape was hovering at the edges of his vision, haunting the area just outside the exit. He looked closer. Severus seemed unusually pale and drawn, and for a long moment, Harry's resolve wavered. He felt a pang of tenderness once more; what had happened, and how could he help? He was just considering calling out to the man, when Harry became aware of number three; his shoe was untied.  
  
As they passed, Blaise detached himself from the shade, his slim silhouette separating into a living darkness. Harry's blood rushed through his veins. Harry glanced at his shoe, and Ron paused, looking back at him.  
  
"Want me to wait for you, Harry?"  
  
"Nah, that's all right. I'll catch up in a minute," Harry replied, kneeling to tie the lace. When he straightened up, Blaise was right before him, hands behind his back, smiling gently. Harry almost gasped. Didn't the boy have any conception of personal space? "Hey, Blaise," he said in what he hoped was an engaging, casual voice. "What are you doing here?" From the corner of his eye, he noticed Severus move in closer. Ha. Lupin hadn't mentioned why Snape had come along last night, but Harry was pretty certain that was only because he realized how much Harry disliked the man. Which was getting to be a pretty accurate description.  
  
"Oh, you know. It's your big game and all. Against Draco. After what happened yesterday, I thought you might be feeling a little nervous, so I decided to come and wish you luck." He blushed prettily, and Harry was blown away. Wow! Someone had blushed over HIM, for once! "And I thought if I did it out there, I might end up as kind of a pariah. You know; since I'm a Slytherin and everything."  
  
"Oh!" Harry said with a bit of a gasp. "Gosh. That's awfully nice of you."  
  
'Awfully conniving of you, is more like,' Severus fumed internally. He hated the tramp more every time he saw him. The devilishly good little actor. And the blush was inspired! They were walking toward him now, but were so absorbed in each other, they were unlikely to notice. Harry will walk right past me, already having forgotten my existence,' he reflected desolately. But then they came to a halt, still some feet away.  
  
"I shouldn't accompany you any further," Blaise told him regretfully. "But I'll come out to watch after you've left," he offered.  
  
"All right, then," Harry grinned. "Whose side will you be cheering on?"  
  
Blaise returned the smile easily. "I won't cheer at all. Not a peep." Harry raised a hand in farewell and turned to leave, but Blaise caught hold of his arm. "Wait. I can't cheer for you, but I CAN give you something, like, for luck," he proposed.  
  
"Yeah?" Harry raised his eyebrows. Blaise HAD kept his hands behind his back most of the time. Harry could hear the cheering start; the other players had arrived on the field. He wondered what Blaise could possibly want to give him. He was speechless when the Slytherin took him by the collar of his Quidditch uniform and pulled him down into a very advanced kiss.  
  
Severus wanted to steam, scream, and satisfy some extremely relentless bloodlust. The little minx just yanked Harry over and stuck his tongue down the boy's throat! 'Can't he even see how blatantly wanton—how, how, promiscuous, and sordid, unprincipled, just—raunchy—can't he see how contemptibly CHEAP that little floozy is?' Severus bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, trying to breathe evenly, all the while thundering and clamoring and weeping and bleeding within.  
  
When Blaise 'eventually' drew back, he did so very languorously, pulling Harry's lower lip with him as far as he could. Harry was absolutely stunned. He couldn't remember ever having ANYTHING like THAT happen to him before. He slowly brought one hand to his face, touching a fingertip to his lip marvelingly. So that was what that felt like. Different from Snape; but not at all bad. His eyes slowly began to focus again, and he saw Blaise before him, looking a touch pleased with himself. He obviously expected something. "Wow," Harry said honestly. "That was. That was just. Wow."  
  
"You are now LATE for the GAME, Mister Potter. Which means it is being DELAYED because of YOU. Fifty points from Gryffindor for WASTING MY TIME," he heard Severus's palpably ferocious voice behind him, and for some reason, it made him smile.  
  
Severus watched as the huge, silly grin spread across Harry's face, and he lost all ability to be angry. It had simply drained away, leaving a huge, aching pit behind. 'That kind of happiness only comes from one thing.'  
  
Harry, still grinning stupidly, took a step backwards, and ended up on his butt. He looked surprised for a moment, before looking at his feet and seeing his shoe was untied again. He looked up at Blaise, who was smiling broadly. Harry returned the grin again and gave a helpless shrug. He tied the shoe once more, and got to his feet. He turned to leave, and thought he heard Blaise mutter something, and he felt his shoe untie again. He bent to do it up, and glanced over his shoulder at the boy, who had his wand still pointed at Harry's feet. So THAT was what he had behind his back. Harry would've expected him to look repentant at being caught, but when Harry stood and gave him a pointed look, Blaise merely winked suggestively, before moving fluidly off to find a vacant seat in the stands. Harry laughed, shaking his head, and went to join the rest of the team. Win or lose, who cared? He was already flying.  
  
Severus watched it all in defeated silence. Voldemort thought he knew how to hurt people. Hah. This was worse than any pain the Dark Lord could have caused him. It had been many, many years, and by power of pride and will he had been certain he would never do it again, but, as he watched Harry walk blithely away to the future, Severus Snape recalled what it was to cry.  
  
(There, ANGSTY enough for you? It lightens up a little...well. But lot's of hurt and jealousy, so maybe not, next chap. I know, I know, but Harry doesn't really LIKE him, does he? If Harry can't SERIOUSLY question it all, and still go back to Snape, he won't survive with a Death Eater spy in the first place. SO; (Cracks whip) Review me! Long, glorious praising reviews! And then take over the world! And build me a mighty empire, and name it after me! And then tremble in awe and huddle in masses at my feet and...Where was I going with this? Oh, shit, I'm late for work! (Yelps and runs) StarryGazer!) 


	25. Beauty and Brute, a Slytherin Sure

(In this chapter I use several other works—most come from Oscar Wilde and his lover Lord Alfred Douglas, but one from Poe, and another from Dora Sigerson. If you can guess any, please let me know; I'd be tickled pink to know you saw it. Or them, if you can get them all...ha ha ha, as if. Anyway, sorry for the wait, my wrist got so bad it had to be immobilized for a few days. Fucking wrist. My roommate said I should just do it by dictation, but he can't do it because he hasn't read book 5, and anyways I need to see it in print to have everything clear in my head. Argh.  
  
Anyhow: Tinkita, heala, Chantelli, SweetHoney, CloudySky, AmericanWitch, LadyDarkness, severus297 ATR—I assure y'all they will get together after they've been properly tortured. Come on, you know you love it. Even Voldemort isn't THIS cruel.  
  
Pure Black—I am Pure Eeeeeevil in this chappie.  
  
Livingwater—Still alive? I hadn't realized modern English teachers were allowed to be quite so lethal...  
  
lavondyss21—I would accept the heart of Europe itself—if it were cut out with a spoon... ;) Corfu is the place I most desire, tho—me and Napoleon....  
  
I'm running late for work, hope I'm just poisonously sweet enough in this chap! (Sly grin) StarryGazer)  
  
Chapter 28: Beauty and Brute, a Slytherin Sure  
  
Harry woke to a crisp, cool morning and a strange owl outside his window. He quickly threw back the sash and let it in, taking the note it offered and giving the bird a distracted pat, hoping it would quickly be on its way and not wake up his dorm mates. It hooted quietly, but did not leave. Instead, the small, uncommon elf owl settled itself on Harry's thigh, butting its head against his hand impatiently whenever said hand was near enough. Harry unfolded the note and read it several times, wondering how he would be expected to respond. In a tasteful, narrow scrawl that Harry did not recognize, it read:  
  
'Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly,  
  
Congratulations on your dazzling win yesterday; my heart leapt into my throat when your talented fingers snatched the snitch right out of M. Malfoy's outstretched hand. (And boy, was he mad!) I apologize for not coming round to commend you in person; a certain head of house found me sneaking in the vicinity of your chambers and gave me a sentence of detention. I cannot fathom why, but I must admit; the prospect having to overcome the disapproving public in order to call on The Boy Who Lived to be Forbidden Fruit is a tantalizing one.  
  
Hogsmead weekend is coming up; will you meet me in the Three Broomsticks? I understand it is the sort of place the Gryffindors often frequent. I am sure we can find a place apart from all the rest, a place to cool our hands in the gray twilight of gothic things. I should like to buy you a drink and take you Christmas shopping; perhaps we can find you an outfit that is worthy of your magnificent self. I realize that your friends may not immediately approve of our acquaintance: you must also realize that my house shall feel the same. I am ready to risk their wrath if it is your wish. Can we help it if the angels are not half so happy in heaven? Please send your answer back with Adonis; I have instructed him to wait in order to return to me with your response.  
  
(If I fail to walk between passion and poetry, I hope I have at least not offended.)  
  
Your own,  
Blaise'  
  
Harry continued to read and reread the letter several times, just to be sure what he was seeing. Blaise wanted to meet him? In public? Blaise wanted to be seen with him in public? A small shudder started at the base of his spine and traveled upward. It was more than Severus had ever offered. Then the shudder seemed to lodge in his heart. Severus. Dear God. Why couldn't it have come from Severus? He thought back to the day before; of Snape taking points from Gryffindor wherever he could think to do so during the match. Snape sneering and telling Harry the only thing Harry could give him was his absence. Snape telling him that his feelings were entirely one-sided. Snape looking at Lupin as though he'd like to say something and then 'walking away without doing so,' all at Remus's behest.  
  
Harry chewed his bottom lip; in anger or in pure panic, it no longer mattered—he would never be able to voice these thoughts to Snape in any case. Snape didn't want him. Snape wanted Lupin. Harry was just a toy, just a—a 'thing' for Snape to play with while Lupin was out. Well, fine. That was fine with Harry. He could find his own amusement, thank you very much. He scrabbled through his bedside drawer, looking for parchment, aware that what Blaise had sent him amounted to exquisite prose, which no one would ever offer again. He was not so stupid as to write his response on the back, and return it to the sender. When he finally found a piece of paper, he thought long and hard, chewing his quill. Blaise was awfully good at this; this was poetry, even if Harry couldn't quite recall the author of anything specific. His reply had to be refined and lyrical. Could he manage that? He wracked his brain for anything apropos before scratching:  
  
'My Apollo,  
  
I would be happy to meet you in Hogsmead. I suppose there will be obstructions, but I am convinced that you are worth it. I knew it when I looked into your fair face and your captivating eyes. He made you all fair, you in purple and gold, you in silver and green, till no eye has seen without love can behold. Can I help it if I am held in thrall? I will take the risk.  
  
In breathless anticipation,  
Hyacinthus'  
  
Shyly, he gave the note to Adonis, and watched the petite bird wing its way out of the window and down, down, down, carrying his message to the Slytherin quarters. It gave him a heady feeling of eagerness to have done something so—so rash, so impulsive, so ardent, for once knowing that the feeling just might be returned. With a smirk, he flopped back down on the bed, resting his head on his arms folded behind him. Snape and Lupin thought he was just a little boy, did they? Thought they could play games with him? 'Well, we'll just see about that.'  
  
Meanwhile, Severus was caught somewhere between slumber and lucidness, fighting cognizance with all his might. Harry was touching him. Harry, with dark eyes, innocent eyes, shameless eyes, staring at him as though he could drink in the man's soul. Severus devoutly wished he could. Harry, reaching for him, running those soft, fluttery fingers along Severus's skin, his rose petal lips parting, honey-sweet tongue reaching out, the tip just emerging from between those lips—ever such a little. Severus could have died from want. From need. He could feel his breath hitch in his chest as he reached for the youth. His fingertips flickered through the boy's rumpled raven locks. Soft locks. And the boy leaned into his touch, his very stance and essence begging for more contact, making Severus gasp.  
  
The man leaned forward, slowly, ever so slowly, never to bring fear into this place; a place where anxiety and responsibility were not needed, not wanted. He lightly brushed his lips across Harry's own. God, ambrosia. Just as he was beginning to suckle those tender, starving lips, a booming sound broke into his fantasy, scattering the vision and sensation like morning fog. He let out a low moan, as the magic—a magic beyond the ability of any wand or potion—was completely dispelled. Harry was not here. Severus was alone, as always. As it should be. So why did it then rankle so? 'Harder to have tasted such sweet candy and let it go, than to have ignored its existence altogether,' a sly voice spoke from within. What the hell was it, his conscious, his libido, or just his sick, twisted mind, speaking his deepest, darkest truths? By Zeus, he hated himself, sometimes.  
  
"Severus, my dear boy," he heard the voice, happy and quite possibly half mad. Well, what other kind of voice would have forgiven him his sins? He stumbled out of bed, throwing the boudoir door open to meet Albus's frank, sparkling gaze. 'The bloody innocent,' Severus thought, more with blame than compassion. He tried to arrange his face into whatever it was supposed to be, but he was so very tired, and it was all so very burdensome. He stared at Albus flatly. "And how did your meeting with Voldemort go?" the great wizard asked him, causing the man to flinch. "I realize you had a game to attend right afterward, how tiring that must have been for you, and I am quite sorry." He seemed to be quiet a long time, analyzing. 'Go to hell,' was the only half way rational thought Severus came up with.  
  
"It could have gone better," he finally replied in an expressionless tone. "The Dark Lord is now convinced that to break Harry, one must simply conquer the boy's heart. I suggested Draco Malfoy as a possible candidate for the job." 'The little shite deserved it, too.' "I think he would be a choice safe enough from our small hero's libido. Although, just to be certain, someone might warn Potter about the boy. Not that he'd listen, of course. Heaven forbid the child actually get some use out of his own head that wasn't related to its thickness."  
  
"I see," Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "And as for yourself?" he added gently. "How did he behave towards you?"  
  
Severus looked away. "I am still hardly trusted, of course." There was no need to tell the man he expected to be dead within the year. They both knew the facts as they were. "I have remained untested because of my unmatched opportunity to observe the Boy Who Lived. The status quo is barely enough to keep him replete for any length of time. It will not be long until I am called up to prove myself beyond doubt."  
  
"Have no fear, my dear boy, I shall give the matter some contemplation. How are the pretexts enduring?" Albus did not look at Severus, but Severus could see the shrewd glint in the man's eyes. Or was it merely the torchlight on his glasses?  
  
Severus divulged himself with a deep sigh. "Not well enough. I do not think he is thoroughly convinced that I am unable to act because you watch me at all times. I think..." It was difficult to say, but easier by far than allowing the Headmaster to be the one to say it. "I think you might consider strengthening the wards."  
  
"Consider it done," Albus replied with a nod. "Now, was there anything else you wished to discuss?"  
  
Severus thought briefly of remarking, 'I find myself amorously stimulated by young Mister Potter, and wish to keep him in my rooms from now on, the better to service me sexually,' but of course, thought better of it. "Nothing," he replied. Who was he to judge Blaise Zabini? If he were only Harry's age... Oh, yes. He, too, was a salacious fiend in human form.  
  
"I am always available with a cup of tea and a ready ear, if you should change your mind," the old man stated, as he turned to leave. Severus was unsure of the man's expression behind the twisted beard, but there was a smile in his voice, and a certain cast to his eye that made Severus quite sure the man was laughing at him.  
  
'Irritating old goat,' he thought, and stomped back into his room as he went to prepare for the day.  
  
"So, Bibere Verbosa is not well known, which is the very property that might give you an advantage," Snape was telling them blandly, his masculine script covering the blackboard. "It will absorb and diffuse one very strong hex, curse, or enchantment cast at you, or it can do the same for several small spells. The 'problem' with Bibere Verbosa is that after it has done its job, it renders the caster unable to perform any other magic for some length of time, due to the interruption of the current of magical energy. If, however, you are in dire need, it is a spell worth having in your arsenal, since it is nearly unheard of, and may well baffle your opponent. Mister Weasley, was there something amusing about what I just said?" He rotated slowly to pierce the snickering redhead with his most formal glare.  
  
Harry swallowed. It was the first time that day he'd had an opportunity to share the note with his friends, and he just couldn't resist. When Snape first turned his back, Harry had slipped it to Hermione, who read it over and promptly looked all swoony, fanning herself with her hand. Her demeanor clearly pantomimed; 'Why, I de-CLARE, Mistah Zabini, yew've jus' gawn and given me the vai-pahs!' Harry's face turned red at this, and he had to stifle a giggle.  
  
Ron, after watching the two of them, was led to lunge over and snatch the paper from Hermione. He, too, decided the note and Hermione's response were amusing, and he was reacting to this when Snape caught him in the act. He looked at Snape for a long, cold moment before responding. "Naw, you didn't do anything funny," he said at long last. "It's just that it seems our boy Harry went and found himself a sugar daddy!" Hermione couldn't contain her laughter at this, but she did bury her face in her hands and try to pass it off as more of a ladylike titter. Even Harry chuckled a little, but Snape did not seem to understand. When he raised his eyebrow in a manner that begged an explanation, Ron handed him the note, with a wide smirk. "I meant; Harry's got a lover-boy, and a rich one, too."  
  
Snape read the note impassively, though his face twitched once. "Ah. Now I perceive your meaning. Though Blaise Zabini is hardly a difficult catch. It is unsurprising that even Potter managed to land him. Though he'll wriggle free of even that clumsy grasp soon enough, I've no doubt," Severus said in an unusual, almost sepulchral voice.  
  
It almost frightened Ron and Hermione, but Harry was fixated on the words, and becoming angry quickly. 'Even that clumsy grasp. I get it. I get it, all right. Like I'm quite a catch myself, but only because I'm famous, and he'll very quickly tire of me because I'm so inexperienced; I don't know how to please him.' Harry stared at him for a long time, feeling the ire inside build into something entirely cold and contained. Anger had never felt this way before. Severus was looking right back into his eyes, for once, his visage completely indifferent.  
  
"Fuck you," Harry said quietly. He picked up his bag and books and walked with a measured pace from the room, not glancing back.  
  
Snape watched him leave, his inner turmoil carefully wiped from his face. 'My, but you have a skillful way of dealing with children,' he mocked himself snidely. 'That was just EXACTLY what was required to make him lose interest in that little tart; good show, man. If you didn't just manage to drive him right into Zabini's bed, you certainly drove him forever from your own. Bloody, sodding hell.'  
  
"Back to your lesson," he said quietly to the two remaining students, trying not to eye Weasley too long, mindful of just a couple of days ago, when the stupid red haired menace had stalked into his office, wand at the ready. ' "I don't know what you did to him. I don't know what you said to him. I only know that if you ever do it again, I'll bloody well kill you. Don't you think I won't. If I can't do it myself, I'll get Fred or George or Bill or Charlie to help me. They'd do it, too. He's family, see? Got people that care about him, no matter what way he swings. He's kind of charismatic, or something, the way people care about him. Unlike you, you sodding old grease-ball. You could fall down and die tomorrow and no one would give a SHITE. Because you're nothing to him, you savvy? And I don't know what you did to him, but I'm never going to see it happen again as long as I live. I promise. So, next time you get the urge to do whatever you did, you'd better watch yourself. You just watch your tongue, and crawl back into your dungeon, under your rock, and die a nobler death than you'll get at my hands."' A misplaced word, and the idiot would cause a scene. He couldn't chance 'that,' not here, not with the wards currently doubled. To his relief, after exchanging a worried glance; the two of them went back to taking notes, pretending nothing was wrong.  
  
Harry walked into the Three Broomsticks on Saturday, feeling excited and tense. Ron and Hermione were following, but more slowly; he wanted a few moments alone with Blaise at first. The boy was standing at the bar, leant over it, draped across it, his arms resting on the counter, his backside jutting out provocatively. Once again, he was dressed casually, not in robes, but in gray slacks and a dark blue shirt tucked tightly in them. Harry held back a sigh. He could do this. He was the Boy Who Lived. Blaise was totally impressed with him. 'Just be cool,' he told himself.  
  
"Hey, there," he said to Blaise as he did his best to swagger up to the beauty. "I like your shirt."  
  
Blaise smiled playfully at him. "I bought you a butterbeer. You want to sit down? Seamus and Jack have some extra chairs at their table."  
  
Harry nodded, suddenly feeling demure, and followed the far more experienced Slytherin. "What was all that about buying me an outfit, anyway?" he got up the courage to ask. He'd been wondering for days.  
  
To his surprise, Blaise's face coloured. "Well, I sort of promised Finnigan I would," he explained. "Solidarity, see?" He could see Harry wasn't getting it, and sighed. "Finnigan was complaining you dress like an overweight, colorblind schizophrenic. He told me I ought to help guide you down the road of fashion recovery." He managed to look very small and very sorry when Harry glowered at him. "I thought it would be nice to go shopping with you," he said in a whispery voice, looking down.  
  
Harry found it suddenly hard to form words. "Erm. Ah. All right. Well. You didn't mean any harm by it, I suppose. Anyway, I'd 'like' to go shopping with you," he added hopefully, and was rewarded with a shy smile. He grinned, and pulled Blaise's chair out for him courteously.  
  
Blaise's smile widened until it was nearing wicked. "Why, thank you, great and gallant Gryffindor," he said, sliding genteelly into the chair. He winked at Harry as the Gryffindor pulled a chair up beside him.  
  
"Vanquishing new frontiers, are we?" Jack's amused drawl inquired of Blaise. He was leaned far back in his seat, chair dangerously tilted, a rakish lock of hair falling in his eyes. If anyone but a Slytherin sat that way, they'd long since have toppled to the floor, but he seemed to keep his balance with ease.  
  
Blaise smiled with just a touch of bitterness. "Aren't I always?" He turned as though ending the conversation, and asked of Harry, "I've been wondering—well, we all have, really—how on earth did Draco get you to out yourself? You don't have to tell me, it's just. Well. What did he DO that made it worth getting up on a table and announcing it to the world?" His large blue eyes were guileless, and Harry felt bound to answer.  
  
"He. Wanted me. To, ah. He said. He said that if I didn't, er, 'go down on him,' that he'd give the page from my journal to the press. So. Um. It was blackmail, see?" He was blushing furiously, staring into his butterbeer to avoid everyone's eyes. To his surprise, there was a burst of discreet laughter from the Slytherins.  
  
"Dear 'God,' that wasn't BLACKMAIL, Harry, darling; for Draco, that was FLIRTING." Blaise was clucking quietly. Jack guffawed when Harry still looked blank. "Well. I suppose it would help if you'd been sorted into Slytherin," Blaise told him, looking pensive. "The thing is, why on earth would Draco demand something like THAT in order to keep him from telling people 'you're' homosexual? It really doesn't make any sense. Of course, Draco IS rather senseless at times. But I don't think he actually MEANT anything by it. He was just. Oh, dear. In Slytherin, it would have been taken as an overt statement that he would. Er. That he would enjoy your company, to put it euphemistically. Hee, hee. Harry, I think Draco FANCIES you." The rest of the table exploded into cackles, and Ron and Hermione entered the room.  
  
Harry couldn't think of anything to say. It was far too strange to contemplate. "Er. Could we please change the subject?" he asked plaintively. There was no WAY he wanted Ron knowing about this. Behind Ron and Hermione, Snape slinked in. Harry immediately turned away. What the hell was HE doing here? Harry couldn't remember ever having seen him in Hogsmead before. Shit, shit, double shit. He saw Blaise glance casually over Harry's shoulder, and smirk just a little. By watching Blaise's eyes, he followed Snape's progress to the bar, where the man was right behind them. He wondered if Severus was watching. On Remus's orders? A guardian angel sent straight from his guardian/werewolf? Harry deeply resented the intrusion. Why couldn't they just leave him the hell alone?  
  
Blaise leaned over and gave Harry a lazy smile as Ron and Hermione plunked themselves down beside him. "I got you something," Blaise told him in a sing-song voice. Harry raised his brows. Blaise slipped something into his palm, his hand maintaining contact with Harry's all the way. Harry felt it was less of a gift of an object than it was a gift of touch. Intimate, suggestive touch.  
  
He looked down, watching Blaise's fingers caressing his palm, then drawing back to reveal an inconspicuous square of paper. Interested, but still lamenting the loss of Blaise's touch, Harry slowly unfolded the document. "JESUS! Oh. Jesus Christ, Blaise, how did you GET this?" Harry asked, looking dumbfounded.  
  
Blaise shrugged and smiled, as if Harry had asked something really juvenile, like why people had to eat food. "It was hanging in the common room for days," he said nonchalantly. He examined his fingers, as if to check how good a job his manicurist had done.  
  
Harry stared at him, open mouthed, for a little while, before passing the paper to his friends. He was aware of Severus staring at him, in the background. 'Serve him right,' a little voice inside said. 'He thinks I'm just a callow little boy, incapable of ever IMAGINING intimacy or sexual fulfillment. Well. Fuck that. I'm Harry Potter. I'll show him. I'll show them all.' "Thank you," he told Blaise in what he hoped was a dignified voice. Then he reached out and took the boy's face and turned it toward him. Carefully, slowly but steadily, Harry leaned forward until he could reach Blaise's lips with his own. Then he let his inhibitions go. He tangled his hand in Blaise's dark curls; he intertwined his tongue with Blaise's. He slid his other hand up Blaise's thigh, and pressed himself against the youth candidly. All the while, Blaise eagerly matched Harry's movements with his own.  
  
When they finally pulled away, panting and flushed, their entire table, along with Severus Snape and a good portion of the rest of the establishment, was staring at them abjectly. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Seamus's hand interlaced with Jack's, their knees pressed together. Several women had hands pressed to their throats, and a few men were running their tongues over their teeth. They had put on quite a show. Harry expected Ron and Hermione looked horrified, but he deliberately kept his head turned from them.  
  
The only person in his sight who did not look the least bit impressed was Snape, who was treading heavily as he made his way to their table. He looked as if he could spit nails. When he was beside them, he laid a hand like a vise on Harry's shoulder. "If I might borrow Mister Potter," he snarled, sounding more infuriated than Harry could ever remember. "We'll only be a moment."  
  
Harry stood proudly and followed the man out the back. He could take this. He was not a child. Bugger this; he wasn't playing games anymore. And he wasn't letting himself get used. "What do you want?" he demanded of Snape when they were in the alley behind the pub. "I don't have much time, so make it quick." He was careful to keep all emotion out of his voice.  
  
Severus contemplated the boy. Fuck. How could he possibly fix this? Anything he did was likely to only alienate the boy further. But this was DANGEROUS, damn it. He didn't realize what he was DOING. "You should NOT be playing with Slytherins," he finally settled on. "You'd be safer at prodding pit bulls with a stick. This is not a good idea, Harry. Blaise is. Zabini is. One of us. One of mine, do you understand? So I know things." He was aware that Harry was still gazing at him coolly, waiting for the point. "I don't want you seeing him anymore, outside of class. Is that understood? Your...Godfather...put me in charge while he is away. Don't think I'm not aware of that. I'm afraid I must make an executive decision here. I don't know what team that boy plays for, but gambling your life is not the way I'll discover the truth. You'll say your goodbyes, and never contact him again." Severus was aware of his stomach churning, reacting to the knowledge that he was only half doing this for Harry's best interests. He whirled gracefully and walked away, unwilling to have another confrontation.  
  
Harry, for his part, was left standing and seething. Obedience was no longer in his vocabulary. Petty revenge, however, was.  
  
Severus was knee deep in scotch when a knock came at the door. It was lower down than most, eliminating possibilities. Too quiet for Harry. Harry would be angry. Perhaps Draco? He moved toward the door, trying to ignore his own inelegance as he stumbled over his feet. Fucking feet, anyway. Who needed them? And. Boys. Who needed them? Stupid, arrogant, blameless, beautiful boys. Heartbroken boys. Didn't deserve it. He threw back the door, ready to scream at the spawn of Lucius, and was stopped at the sight of Zabini. Dressed to the nines, if in silk pajamas. Hair artfully arranged to impress the maximum of youthful splendor and the minimum of effort. Severus was instantly suspicious.  
  
"What the bollocks do YOU want, you little bed warmer?" He tried to stand tall and straight, but his lips were twisted bitterly, and his body seemed to want to follow; to huddle in on itself, to protect itself from this, this poisonous THING.  
  
Blaise made himself at home, walking confidently into Severus's rooms, gazing about casually. Severus didn't know whether he did it to seem careless, or to avoid the man's eyes, but he didn't care a whit. This was the—prostitute that had taken Harry from him. Harry would believe whatever Zabini said; of course he would. Severus, on the other hand, knew better.  
  
"I've seen the way you look at him," Blaise noted abstractedly, trailing his hand over the wainscoting. "And he doesn't even care. He thinks of you as an old man; an old enemy. Someone put on earth simply to antagonize him. Tragic, really."  
  
"What the FUCK do you WANT?" Snape roared, enraged.  
  
Blaise turned seemingly ingenuous blue eyes on him. "Very little," the boy told him in a hushed voice. "Only you. If I'd known you were a chicken hawk, I might have approached you sooner." With a sureness that astounded Snape, the boy crossed the distance between them in a few strides, and reached up to take a firm fistful of Severus's hair and yank him down to the boy's level.  
  
If he wasn't in such intoxicated shock, Snape would have bitten the boy's tongue off during what he did next. When he pulled away, Blaise's eyes flashed vainly. "Shall we go to bed, then?" he queried, quite sure of his prey's answer.  
  
Severus was stock still for almost half a minute, before his body responded without taking great consideration of the consequences. If he was aware of anything at all, it was that he reacted not so much in defense of himself, as in defense of gentle, ignorant Harry. His forehand rose and struck like lightning, the bubbling rage he'd felt for days full behind the blow. In other words, he knocked him across the room.  
  
Blaise found himself on the floor several feet away, rubbing dazedly at the red handprint that starkly graced the side of his face. It had not been a gentle swat; it had been intended to be as fearsome as the wrath of God, and had not fallen short. He breathed heavily for a few moments, actually dizzy from the clout.  
  
"You shameless, heartless, soulless slut," Snape hissed at him, rubbing the life back into his hand. "You stay the hell away from him, do you hear me? If you hurt that boy, I swear I'll make you pay. The Cruciatus Curse will be NOTHING compared to what you get from me." He looked daggers at the boy, lips pulled back in a snarl, lank hair falling limply around his face.  
  
If he had expected Blaise to cry, to run, to admit defeat, he was sorely mistaken. Clenching his teeth resolutely, the harlot gained his feet. He slipped back to the door, eyes on Severus at every moment. "You made a mistake," he cautioned, just before he gained the hall. "You made such a mistake. If you had reciprocated, you might have gotten what you wanted. I would have let you have him back, eventually. Now, however, I think I'll fucking keep him. That's right, you go ahead and tell him what happened here tonight. Do whatever you can; spells, veratiserum, whatever. Just remember, Severus; I've got him now. And there's no power in this world that will make him believe you over me." With one last, defiant, hateful flash of eyes, the younger Slytherin whipped around and was gone.  
  
(HA! That was a doozie, wasn't it? A zinger? Make you gasp? Hope so. I had a whole slew of scenes in my head and didn't know what to put where. I put my problem before my roommate, and he said, 'You should always end with a cliffhanger or something horrible happening.' So I outlined this scene to him, and he got the most EVIL grin. He goes, 'Yeah. End with that one.' So blame him for the excessive cruelty. Misunderstandings are unraveled next chap, BTW. Only a few chappies left, guys! I hope you'll all still read me when I go on to write other stuff...! Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, review me, you know the drill. StarryGazer) 


	26. Cast the Die

(Thanks to odessaspacey1, Agar, Kudama, catsncritters (hey, that's one of my favorite books), poor battered livingwater89, Mercury Sands, Dominic() and all the rest of you for your support. Finally my wrist starts to feel better; I finished a couple of chapters this weekend. And ShadowPhoenix reviewed! I tap-dance at my desk. I did her some art on my Harry Potter Art page at (www.) geocities forward slash foppagal forward slash index the underscore irrelevant underscore elephant(dot html.) So, check it out, mon. Hate how I can't get links to post right. And I can't do italics or even stars now! Is it the same for you guys? This is the second time I'm posting this chap—I was a little hurried this morning, and after reviewing it, I decided it needed a bit of tweaking. Short reference to 'The Princess Bride' in this one. Will hurry with the next one, all right? Love ya! Starry)  
  
Chapter 29: Cast the Die  
  
"Lupin, I'm telling you; the boy is playing a very risky game." Snape was bent over his desk, head in hands, supported by the elbows propped on either side of a small, round mirror. The face looking back at him was not his own; he doubted his own face could seem so uncertain about the matter.  
  
"Yes, but...it's just a boyish infatuation, isn't it? I mean; he'll get over it more quickly if we let him go through the motions. That's one thing about boys this age; the only sure way of getting them to do something is by telling them not to." Remus looked at him almost sympathetically, as though he, too, had to deal with these 'fatherly instincts.'  
  
Snape snarled at the man. It was all the worse knowing he couldn't even explain that he'd like to screw the boy himself—this wasn't about SEX, it was about stakes. "You dim-witted werewolf! He is not an ordinary boy; he doesn't have the LUXURY of making these sorts of mistakes. If Zabini gets bored with him, he won't just toss him aside or let Harry find him in a compromising position with someone else; he has the option of feeding him to the Dark Lord like a table scrap! Because He is always hovering around the Death Eaters, watching for that opening, and the Zabinis may not be knee-deep in it with the rest of us, but they're in it, all right. They launder money for the cause. Botolf is as much a Death Eater as he is a drunk, however little he's invited to participate in the significant schemes. Do you understand? And Harry's going about with his son!"  
  
Lupin still looked doubtful. "That doesn't make the boy his father. We shouldn't judge him based on that," the werewolf told him in an aggravatingly calm and earnest voice.  
  
"Stop being so doltish and myopic! This is not a Shakespearian drama! This is Harry's LIFE!" He roared into the mirror, making Remus flinch. "You can take your platitudes and diplomacy and shove them up your arse. You do not get to puff up and play a reasonable, well-wishing Friar Laurence, we are not dealing with any Capulets whatsoever, and the Montagues will not disown their little Romeo—on the contrary, they'll encourage him to use the part to their advantage!" Snape sighed, hissing through his teeth. He hadn't wanted to do this, but these thickheaded, gullible Gryffindors would believe the best of ANYBODY unless they were given proof otherwise. "Listen to me. A couple of nights ago, Zabini came to MY chambers, and propositioned ME. I don't care if you believe me but, for myself, it strongly suggested he did not have Potter's best interests at heart."  
  
Lupin blinked at this. A line appeared between his brows. "He made a pass at you? Really? What exactly did he do?" His head was cocked as though there had to have been some kind of misunderstanding.  
  
"He took hold of my hair, yanked me down to his level, and proceeded to make the attempt to introduce our tongues to one another. It was vile," he added, glaring at the werewolf, who was attempting to hide a smile behind his hand.  
  
"Oh, my. He does get around, doesn't he? No, no," he waved off Severus's indignant ire. "I take your point. One of us is going to have to tell Harry, you know," he added with slumped shoulders.  
  
"It won't do any good whatever. The last thing the little catamite offered me before retreating was the assurance that Harry would not, under any circumstances, believe my version of events over his. You can imagine what he's done to make it so. And Harry, being the guileless, besotted wretch that he is, is too ensnared for me to dare the attempt to pull him out."  
  
"Mmm. I'll have a talk with him," Lupin said vaguely, and Severus scowled, feeling like the situation was not being given the attention it warranted. "How did you handle Blaise, I feel I should ask?"  
  
Snape's scowl deepened at this. He was not proud to have manhandled a student, but had not been able to work up any real guilt, either. 'You know you've got it bad when you're reduced to—what's the word? 'bitch-slapping' your rivals. You know you've got it WORSE when you do not, in fact, regret it, but long for an opportunity to repeat the action.' Blaise was glamouring his stupid face, at any rate, so no one would know unless he actually chose to tell them. Which he apparently hadn't, so far. "None of your business," he informed the werewolf with haughty dignity.  
  
"All right," Lupin accepted with a sigh. "I'm not certain I want to know, anyhow. Look, I'll talk with Harry next chance I get. Won't be soon, I'll be in Hogsmead in a few days, but can't get back to Hogwarts—well, I MAY have time, but only if everything goes poorly."  
  
"I still think it's a bad idea," Severus told him in ominous tones. "You're simply not cut out for this sort of thing. Leave it to the professionals; that's my advice. You're already as glassy-eyed as the walking dead. You look like some sort of haggard, ill-used, Victorian-era washerwoman."  
  
"I'm fine," Lupin insisted firmly.  
  
"Checked to make sure you still had a wet nose, did you?" Snape replied dryly.  
  
"Ha, ha. Thank you for your concern. I'll be in touch; just don't attempt to contact me this way tonight, I'll be busy. Try not to get too over strung, would you? It's not good for your health, and makes you even more shrewish than you normally are." With a ribbing half-smile, Lupin vanished from the mirror. 'Bastard,' thought Snape. 'He would choose NOW, of all times, to develop an inappropriate sense of humor.'  
  
Harry was sitting in bed, cross-legged, trying to memorize an especially convoluted chapter in his History of Magic book. He'd gotten a poor mark on the last exam, and the stern face Lupin made after seeing it convinced Harry he ought to try a little harder. For himself, not for Lupin. He was sure the werewolf had always gotten top grades, and that annoyed him endlessly. Why did Lupin have to be so...bloody perfect? Smart, kind, laid- back, brave...it just went on and on. How was Harry supposed to compete with someone like that? He tried to ignore the part of him that admonished how he shouldn't want to compete with Lupin. It wouldn't make a difference.  
  
"Harry?" The voice from the doorway made him glance up, and he was surprised to see Blaise.  
  
Harry exchanged a bewildered look with Ron. "What are you doing here?" he asked, carefully phrased to be different from, 'How the hell did you infiltrate the Gryffindor boys' bedroom?'  
  
"Ah. Hermione let me in." He bit his lip, and looked more hesitant than Harry could remember seeing. His eyes were red-rimmed, as well, and Harry wondered if he had been crying. 'Don't be stupid,' he told himself. 'Slytherins don't cry.'  
  
"Come on and have a seat, then," Harry offered, patting the bed next to him. He watched as Blaise reluctantly sat down. This was definitely weird. Blaise was never reluctant to get close to Harry. For the past few days, he'd been throwing himself at the other wizard at every opportunity; snogging him between classes, sitting next to him and putting his hand on Harry's thigh in Potions. This reversal was really odd. "What's the matter?" Harry finally asked him, as gently as he could. Blaise wasn't really acting as though he wanted to discuss it, but Harry felt the option should be given.  
  
Blaise actually looked surprised for a moment, before settling into an expression of unhappiness tinged with suspicion. He gave a slight shrug, and Harry noted all sorts of things flicker across that beautiful face before he spoke again. Hurt, anger, bitterness, shame. Harry was deeply impressed—how come all Slytherins were so multi-layered and intense? "It's nothing much," Blaise finally responded, not looking Harry in the eyes. "I was just wondering if I could spend the night in here."  
  
Harry was taken aback, and the other Gryffindors responded in a vociferous negative, earning themselves a poisonous look from Blaise. Harry gestured for silence. "Erm. Is there some reason you want to stay here? You seem kind of...not yourself, tonight."  
  
Blaise glared at his hands, which were twisting and untwisting themselves in his lap. "It's only Draco being Draco," he said in a deceptively offhand tone, belied by the very angry look forming on his face.  
  
This, at least, Harry understood. He should have realized there would be repercussions for Blaise, for becoming romantically involved with the Slytherin house's most despised enemy. "What did he do to you?" Harry asked in a gruff voice.  
  
Blaise looked at Harry in confusion for a moment, before shaking his head. "Nothing. Exactly. But I won't say it. They can't make me say it. I'll sleep in the hall, if I have to. They think they're so fucking funny, the fucking hypocrites." To Harry's consternation, two angry tears trembled at the tips of the youth's long lashes, before dropping to splatter on the hands below.  
  
"What did he do?" Harry demanded again, now becoming angry.  
  
Blaise glanced at him, his expression wary. "Nothing big," he muttered, giving a resentful shrug. He sniffled a little, crossly wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. It was clear that he was getting himself under control, and that this was about as emotional as he would get. "He just changed the Slytherin password. And I won't say it. They all thought it was just hilarious. Every one of them stood there, jeering and laughing at me, like they're all so much better. Fucking hypocrites," he repeated. He looked a little perplexed when Harry put an arm around him.  
  
"Tell me what the new password is, and I'll take care of it," Harry said determinedly.  
  
Blaise's eyebrows rose, as though this was not at all what he expected. Then they knitted together and he looked away. "Blaise Zabini is the Slytherin Slut," he choked out.  
  
"Um, no offense," Seamus put in, ignoring Harry's reproachful glance, "but why exactly does that bother you? I mean; people call you that all the time, and you've never seemed to mind."  
  
"I'm sure I've become quite inured to their insults and maltreatment, overall," Blaise responded in a cold voice. "It's just that they haven't, thus far, done anything else that required I participate in my own humiliation."  
  
"For fuck's sake, Finnegan, just shut up about it," Harry added in an exasperated voice. He gave Blaise another pat on the shoulder. "I'm going down to the Slytherin rooms. Anyone want to join me?"  
  
All the other Gryffindors hopped out of bed, and Dean said with a wide smile, "Showdown between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy? Hell, yeah; I'm there."  
  
"I'll be your second," Ron added, looking self-important and excited.  
  
Harry nodded once. "Round up the other Gryffindors," he ordered. "Tonight, we take Slytherin house." He headed out the door, and fended off Hermione. "Yeah, yeah, I'll lose us points, I'll get in trouble, I'll bring the wrath of Voldemort upon my head," he intoned dismissively. "Tell me something I don't know. I can protect you and Ron from Draco if I have to," he added, "I don't have to worry about you, because I know where you are. Blaise has to sleep right down there with him, in the belly of the beast, so to speak. I have to go. This is what friendship's about, you know?" He didn't notice Blaise watching the exchange closely, his face closed, but his eyes flashing with conflicting emotions.  
  
After a moment, Hermione sighed and said, "All right, but I'm not going with you." She settled herself into an armchair to await their return. "Have fun storming the castle," she muttered at their backs, already absorbed in a large tome.  
  
Harry stopped at the blank stone wall that was the Slytherin common room door, Gryffindors gathering around him. He was really quite angry, and that made it hard to think. He took a deep breath and informed his audience, "I'm saying this once, and then after that, I never want to hear it again. You guys got that? This is the last time this phrase gets spoken out loud in Hogwarts." Muttering rose up around him, but he ignored it, stepping forward and stating clearly, if softly, "Blaise Zabini is the Slytherin Slut." The wall swung inward, and Harry marched through, carrying a wave of followers in his wake.  
  
Malfoy was in front of the fire, laughing with some other Slytherins. His eyes widened in affronted shock as he saw the group approaching him. Blaise was on Harry's right, face as cold as any Slytherin's. "God, have you no shame?" Malfoy sneered at him. "Bad enough that you're fucking the Gryffindor golden boy, but now you go and betray your whole house by letting these—these baseborn, unwashed bastards in?! You're going to hell, and the Dark Lord will send you there himself if he finds out about this."  
  
"Jealous," Blaise taunted.  
  
Harry was shaking with anger, watching Malfoy grimace at his fellow Slytherin like he was something from the bottom of his shoe. "Draco," he said quietly, and when Malfoy's head turned toward him, he very straightforwardly punched Draco in the face. He watched dispassionately as the youth sat down hard, looking shocked. Blood was gushing from his nose. "I'd have that looked at, but not just now," Harry announced. "Now, everybody listen up!" Both Slytherins and Gryffindors had wands out, now, but the Slytherins had been unprepared, and did not look desirous of going a round or two with Harry, who had just knocked one of their most admired on his ass, without even using magic. "The Slytherin password is now, 'I apologize,' because I rather think you need to learn the phrase. Whoever can show us how to change the password, go with Dean, here. Don't you dare provoke me by not volunteering." He nodded to a Slytherin first year, who stepped forward and led Dean away. "There will be Gryffindors stationed here for the next couple of weeks. If you don't bother them—or Blaise Zabini—then I'm sure we'll all get along just fine. The next time someone makes a joke about Blaise, or harasses him in any way, you will all be very sorry. And you won't get a chance to say so. I'm sick to death of the childishness I get from you people. I've had enough. Therefore, I'm taking over Slytherin house."  
  
Someone stepped out of the shadows, arm raised, and the Gryffindors gave a collective cry of alarm. Before the challenger got a word out, however, he was felled by Trembling Hex, and Harry was casually re- sheathing his wand. "No more of that nonsense," he stipulated. "Come on," he turned to Blaise. "I'll walk you to your room. Ron?" he added over his shoulder. "You can take charge of all this, right?" At Ron's smirk and salute, Harry managed a small smile before walking away.  
  
"Whoever your roommates are, they'll have to come and collect their stuff," Harry said to Blaise. "I won't trust them not to hurt you while you're asleep. Is this your room?" he followed him in, looking around. "If anyone gives you any trouble, let me know," Harry said seriously.  
  
"Why did you do that?" Blaise whispered. He was staring at Harry like the boy had informed him the moon was not made of green cheese, but kisses and smiles and copious amounts of brotherly love.  
  
"Jesus, Blaise," Harry said in aggravation, "I did it because I CARE about you, all right?" He heard Ron's voice calling him. "Crap, I'd better go. Get some sleep, okay?" He nodded and left, and Blaise sat down on his bed, wondering why, for the first time in his life, he actually felt a little guilty about something. And why Harry Potter, of all the guys he'd had flings with, had claimed to care about him.  
  
Harry was nervous. He was going to meet Blaise tonight—not in the Three Broomsticks, but in the Hog's Head, and no one would see them, at least not for very long, because Blaise had paid for an upstairs room...  
  
Snape had been angry about what transpired in the dungeons, and the Gryffindors had been forced to relinquish their hold. Still, Harry had reiterated his threat about anyone bothering Zabini, and it seemed to him the Slytherins took it seriously. Mostly they left the boy strictly alone, but a few had even attempted to be nice to him. Blaise was polite in return, but unfailingly spent his evenings with Harry. Harry hadn't been to detention for a couple of days, and Snape hadn't come looking for him. Which hurt more than he thought it should, considering he was with Blaise, now. He tried to accept that he couldn't turn his emotions on and off like a faucet, he just wished that, in Severus's case, they weren't ALWAYS ON. He had every reason to stop caring about the man; it was both logical and the best thing for him, emotionally speaking—but he couldn't do it. So, he subverted the feeling into messing about with Blaise. On some level, he realized that this was immature and probably cruel to everyone involved, but he tried to pretend it didn't matter.  
  
That night, as he slipped on his dad's cloak, he began having second thoughts. This was one of the kinds of things Severus had tried repeatedly to warn him away from. Dangerous. Stupid. Likely to get someone in big trouble. But Blaise was willing to take the chance—and he knew exactly what they were getting into, or so he said. But there was still a voice in Harry's head—'Foolish,' it called him, and told him he was 'tempting providence.' It sounded like the Potions Master. Harry secured the cloak and began the trek into Hogsmead. If it had sounded like anyone other than Severus, he might have listened.  
  
When Harry was just outside the pub, he took off his cloak and folded it neatly, before stashing it under the porch. He wasn't a complete idiot. And Blaise didn't need to know about it, anyhow. When he entered the pub, he saw Blaise standing in the shadows, and the boy's eyes lit up. Harry fought down fear. Afraid of Blaise, that was stupid. But he wasn't afraid of Blaise, precisely, just of being alone with him.  
  
Blaise gave him a quick kiss and said, "Shall we go upstairs?"  
  
"I—I dunno. I just. I've never," Harry muttered, and blushed when Blaise smiled delightedly.  
  
"You don't know what you've been missing," he purred, tangling a hand in Harry's hair. His tongue flicked against Harry's ear, and Harry tried not to flinch. He liked Blaise, he did. It was just that...he liked Severus more. And missed him poignantly, lately.  
  
"Yes, but...I want people to respect you," Harry informed him, stepping back. "Like I respect you."  
  
They faced each other, Blaise staring at him again as though he'd grown another head. He looked so at sea that Harry was just about to reach out and ask whether he was all right, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun, heart pounding, to see Lupin gazing down at him, mild expression somewhat more strained than it usually was.  
  
"I think we need to have a little chat," the werewolf informed him in a tight voice.  
  
After they arrived back at the castle, Remus said quietly, "I'll inform your heads of house about your behaviour. You can go back to your rooms," he told Blaise. "Harry, since you're already serving detention with Snape, we'll have to ask him what more he thinks we ought to try. Come with me."  
  
"It was my fault," Blaise said quietly, causing both Harry and Remus some surprise. "Really; I lured him out and tried to take advantage of him." His voice was unemotional. Remus's expression barely changed, but something seemed to pass between the werewolf and the Slytherin, and Harry wondered what it was. Lupin looked... shrewd, and the student seemed subtly defiant. It was Blaise who looked away first. "I'm sorry," he told Lupin, and walked quickly away.  
  
Harry followed his former professor to Snape's rooms, feeling confused and angry. It felt like everyone was keeping secrets from him. And now he'd have to face Snape. Snape opened his door, and merely raised an eyebrow in his typical style when Lupin escorted Harry inside. "Ah. Only a matter of time before the little delinquent tried it," he commented when Remus informed him of the situation.  
  
Harry was sitting in a chair, while Remus paced unhappily and Snape stood in the doorway, an even more twisted smile than usual on his face. Harry glared at both of them. "I don't see why you have to tell your slimy boyfriend everything about me!" he finally said to Lupin in a loud, angry voice. It did not have the effect he expected.  
  
"Pardon me?" Lupin stared at him. "You thought—Harry, did you think Professor Snape and I, ah, were—um. Involved?"  
  
"Obviously so, judging by his outburst," Snape responded. "Where, I wonder, could he have gotten such an idea?" He was gazing coldly, accusingly at the man.  
  
Lupin flushed, and Harry looked on in interest. He wasn't quite able to draw any conclusions, yet, but this was certainly not how he'd thought they would react. "Well. I did tell him. About, you know. About the kiss." Lupin flinched away from Snape's violent, blasphemous response. "Harry—"he turned to the boy—"There has never been anything between the two of us. I don't know how you managed to maintain such a mistaken impression for so—so long," he stammered.  
  
"Because he is DELUSIONAL," Snape growled.  
  
"Oh, thank you so very much," Lupin spat. "Like you're quite the catch yourself. Have you EVER bothered to wash your hair, or do you just rely on a good yearly spring rain to take care of matters?" Harry was shocked. He'd never heard Lupin get this defensive before.  
  
"Ah, so now we're back to personal remarks," Snape said scathingly. "We were DISCUSSING HARRY, not your pathetic lack of romantic involvement, nor my supposed deficiency in grooming. Need I remind you of the importance of prioritizing?"  
  
"Yes, well. Ah." Lupin cleared his throat. "At any rate, Harry, Professor Snape is really not my type."  
  
Harry glanced at Snape to see how he would take this, but to his surprise, the man merely snorted. "Well, to each his own, then. Or, in Mister Zabini's case, everyone else's."  
  
Harry stared at Severus. What the hell did THAT mean? It made it sound like Blaise had taken Harry away from him. Surely he didn't mean it like that. Still, Harry could not help the swell of desire he felt for the man. Wouldn't it be great if Snape were jealous? He licked his lips unconsciously, unable to tear his eye's away from the Potions Master's.  
  
Snape watched the boy's eyes suddenly seem to turn a much darker green, as his pupils expanded. He wasn't sure why the boy was looking at him like that, or what it meant, but he did realize it was having inconvenient results on parts of his own anatomy. The lip licking was just about the last straw. He tore his eyes away, and tried to focus on his argument with Lupin, which seemed rather trifling suddenly. "Might I enquire as to WHY, exactly, you felt the need to enlighten your godson as to one of your less impressive, not to mention ancient, romantic conquests?" He sneered.  
  
"I felt the boy needed good role models, and he also needed to know how I dealt with all this at his age." Lupin looked stubborn.  
  
"I did inform you that I wanted NO PART of being a role model to him! And frankly, he'd already dealt with the matter, and if not with more tact, than at least with less cowardice than you yourself had shown. And I'll thank you not to go about parading anecdotes about MY PRIVATE LIFE to whomever you deem worthy! Fucking deceitful, backstabbing werewolf," Snape muttered mutinously.  
  
"Oh, yes, and you're just a paragon of virtue in THAT area," Lupin replied bitterly. "You cost me my job, got me thrown out of Hogwarts, never able to teach again—"  
  
"You are a WEREWOLF, you self-deceived screwball! You don't merely get overemotional once a month and throw a couple of weepy tantrums! You turn into a great, slavering beast with a real possibility of ripping someone's throat out! You don't belong in a SCHOOL, for God's sake, unless you're the one being studied! I don't know why—"  
  
"And once again it's Lupin the monster!" Lupin was yelling sarcastically. "You know, that's quite ironic considering I wasn't the one terrorizing the countryside, raping and looting and pillaging, dark mark and Death Eater's mask firmly in place. To my knowledge, I have never killed anyone. You think—"They were really screaming at each other, and Harry half wished he had some popcorn. 'I should stop them, I really should. But they're FIGHTING, and that's so reassuring, because they definitely dislike each other...'  
  
All of a sudden Snape cut off in the middle of a sentence, his eyes going unfocused. Harry saw his right hand twitch toward his left forearm. "Lupin! BELT UP, would you?" he yelled at his guardian, taking the man by surprise. He gave a sharp nod at Snape, and Lupin's eyes went wide with sudden understanding.  
  
"He's calling me," Snape informed them curtly. "Wait here. I'm going to inform Dumbledore, and return immediately." He picked up some floo powder from the mantle and quickly disappeared.  
  
"Harry," Remus said quietly after the spy had gone, "why did the thought of Snape and I together upset you quite so badly?"  
  
Harry's head jerked up. "Well. You know. Just thought I was going to be forced to play happy families with Professor Snape, that's all. You kept dragging him along everywhere, and whispering stuff to him, and it was. Disturbing; you know?"  
  
Lupin laughed shortly. "Well. Yes. I suppose it would be, at that." He stopped talking as Snape reappeared in the fireplace.  
  
"You're to keep a close eye on the boy," he said tersely. "Death Eaters captured someone in the Order. I have to go."  
  
"Who did they get?" Harry asked in a horrified voice.  
  
Snape was quiet for a long time, pouring himself a last drink before leaving. "Oldest Weasley boy," he finally responded. "You're not to tell his brother."  
  
"Bill? They got Bill?" Harry's throat was suddenly dry, and he joined Snape at the decanter and helped himself to a drink of his own. Snape didn't seem to notice, and Harry didn't see the odd look Lupin gave him before deciding some things were more important.  
  
"Dear God, are you sure? Is he...is he still...?" he trailed off, unwilling to discuss it in front of Harry.  
  
"So far as anyone knows; that's why I'm going," Snape responded gravely, taking another swig. He was very pale.  
  
"Poor Molly. And he'd just met that girl...they'd already been talking engagement...children, all of that." Lupin shook his head, worried.  
  
"Hm. Yes, I do recall hearing something about that," Severus acknowledged. He was silent a while, thinking. "I remember him in Potions. Could hardly tell his wand from his cauldron. I can only imagine how that would have translated to his married life."  
  
"Severus," Lupin reproved.  
  
"Yes, yes." He took a deep breath. "I've got a batch of that new healing potion simmering," he suddenly remembered. "Inform Albus so he can remove it from the heat at...let's see, exactly eight o'clock tomorrow morning," he commanded Lupin. "You!" he aimed a finger at Harry's face. "You'll stay out of trouble. It isn't a request! Do you understand me? I've got things that need my attention; I'm going to have to be focused, and I can't do that if half of me is worrying about what new damn-fool situation you're getting yourself into! For fuck's sake, stay out of trouble!"  
  
"Harry, give Severus your cloak," Lupin suggested in a contemplative voice. Harry looked surprised, but gave it up immediately, no questions asked. Snape gave a reluctant thank you and took it. "And you'll not be getting it back until you've earned it," Lupin added as an afterthought, causing Snape to smirk.  
  
"You can't—"Harry protested.  
  
"I can and I have," Lupin said with finality. "And you'll be giving the map to me. No!" he said, overriding another protest. "I certainly can; it's mine, after all."  
  
"I'll get cold without my cloak," Harry halfheartedly objected.  
  
"Then we'll get you a new cloak," Lupin said, and Harry heard the warning in his voice. He reflected he should have resented it, but he was too worried just now to think about it. They trailed behind Snape to the door to his chambers, and watched him lock up. Harry no longer had a key that worked, and he was assaulted by a pang of regret that he felt he should have given up some time ago.  
  
"Good luck," Lupin told Snape, offering his hand. Severus rolled his eyes, but finally shook it. "If anything happens, what do I tell...them?" he asked enigmatically, and Harry got the feeling he was not referring to the members of the Order.  
  
"Nothing," Severus replied brusquely. "You hardly know me, and we haven't spoken. That way, whatever happens, you'll still have your chance. I would not relish the thought of taking anyone down with me." Harry's throat constricted certain he was, listening to the man discuss the imminent possibility of his own death as clinically and dispassionately as if it were completely impersonal.  
  
"Be careful," Harry whispered, and the man frowned at him.  
  
"No, YOU be careful," he whispered angrily in return. Harry's lower lip began to tremble, and Severus felt panicky. After all these years in the magical school system, all this time TRYING to have that reaction on children, why was it that suddenly NOW the idea of one youth's tears had become such a sure assault against his defenses? But it wasn't just any youth, was it? A small amount of liquid breached the boy's lash and was blinked out, beginning its downward trek, and more of the damn things were welling up in his eyes. 'Oh, fuck me,' Severus thought, thoroughly exasperated. "Damn it," he remarked, in what he hoped was not too hoarse a voice. "Now I've got two cloaks to wear, and I'm going to overheat tonight running around in one." He whipped off his own black cloak, nothing so fine as those some of the Death Eaters wore, but warm and soft and damn well good enough for any stupid boy, who very clearly was not going to stop the waterworks until he had some reassurance that he was. Well. APPRECIATED, or REMEMBERED, or some such nonsense. He had told himself he wouldn't do this again, that he wasn't doing the boy any favors, but really, he didn't need two cloaks, and that stupid Potter was standing right there in front of him, eyes SWIMMING with tears. "Here," he growled, shoving the cloak right in Harry's face and, if he happened to inattentively brush a few of the drops of hurt—and whatever other overly-strong emotion the brat was feeling—off his cheeks, well, he certainly hadn't INTENDED to. "That cloak had better be in the exact same shape it is now when I return," he threatened, and for some reason, Harry smiled at this, made happier somehow by the words than the offering of a perfectly good cloak. "If I find out you've—you've leant it to Zabini, or something—"  
  
"He won't touch it," Harry promised, still feeling sick with worry. But Severus had practically promised he'd come back, hadn't he? "And I'll be careful while you're gone. Obedient, even." He managed to almost smile, and wasn't surprised to see Severus didn't buy any of it. But he would be careful. He tried to convey this with his eyes, not wanting the man's concentration broken by concerns about him. "Please don't think you need to be distracted because of how I might be behaving in your absence. I won't do anything. I'll even ground myself, so I won't see Blaise at all, except in class, until you return."  
  
"Oh, that's what would happen, anyways," Lupin cheerfully informed him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Harry tried not to let his smile turn too sour.  
  
For some reason, Severus's eyes seemed amused by this, and he gave them one last nod, before turning away to face his responsibilities.  
  
(The next chapter should be up soon. It was supposed to be part of this chapter, but then I realized the whole thing would be way too long, and take another day or two to finish. Ah, brave, valiant Snape. Why is it he doesn't notice he has a few Gryffindor traits? Lupin's over-the-top behavior will be revealed shortly, and things begin to come to a head. Dumbledore makes an appearance, pointing some overlooked wisdom out to our young hero. Keep reviewing! StarryGazer) 


	27. The Sacrifices of the Slytherin

(Thanks to Dominic (I'd not wish for things like that; you don't know where that writer's BEEN! As well as Doneril, The Spaz, Leah, AmZ, Tropicwhale (wait till next time), Chantelli (have fun storming the castle), Menecarkawan (glad you picked up on that!) Winnie2, The-Magnificent-Fuzzy, ataraxis, c[R]ud[E]dly, and the rest of you. And especially thanks to everyone who didn't plague me with complaints about Blaise. Dude, he's the OBSTACLE. He's a freakin' PLOT DEVICE. You cannot tear a plot device limb from limb.  
  
We get Shakespearian Severus in this chap, and major seriousness. It is different, so I hope you still like. Anyway, who doesn't like Sev better than old Shakey?  
  
This chapter is dedicated to my hero, ShadowPhoenix, of whom you have heard and are probably getting sick of my mentioning. This chapter is really personal to me, because I did go through the flames. If I had one wish, I'd give her, and all of you, the chance to do exactly as Dumbledore describes. It is a feeling unlike any other, and reminded me of her (as quoted in Pratchett's Carpe Jugulum, "Are you a good man, Mister Oats?...this is where you find out," said Granny. "To the fire we come at last, Mister Oats. This is where we BOTH find out....You're in the wings of the phoenix, now...") StarryGazer)  
  
Chapter 30: The Sacrifices of the Slytherin  
  
Harry stayed well away from Blaise for the next few days. It was as much his own choice as Lupin's. He tried to keep that in mind, so that it didn't rankle quite so much. Harry was ready to explode, but kept his emotions under a tight reign. It wouldn't help anyone if he lost his temper. And besides, he had to be there for Ron. Apparently the twins, deciding for themselves what Ron did or did not need to know, owled him about the situation, causing him to go nearly catatonic. Harry and Hermione had to taking turns forcing him to eat, and promising everything would be all right. In a way, his reaction made things easier on Harry, who was not questioned about why he chose to sleep wrapped up in a man's black cloak. He felt like he was handling the whole thing with as much dignity as he could muster.  
  
On the third day, there was finally some word. Bill stumbled into some little Muggle town, beaten and naked. The Muggles took him in, called the police, and had him set up in a Muggle hospital. It didn't take long for the Order to locate him, and get him quickly moved to St. Mungos, where he was recovering well, considering the ordeal he'd been through. When the three of them were allowed to visit him, Harry had to retrain himself from doing ANYTHING until after everyone else had finished, by waiting with Remus out in the hall. Remus, confused, kept asking Harry if he wouldn't like to see Bill, and Harry kept replying, "Not yet. Not yet," between gritted teeth.  
  
Ron finally popped his head out of the door. "He's doing FINE, Harry, he just needs rest. They healed him right up, there's nothing to be squeamish about! Come on, mate." Harry finally took a deep breath and went in, hating himself for feeling this way under Ron's worried eyes. Harry didn't care about Bill at ALL—well, of course he DID, but he was more worried about Severus. So why did that feel so damn selfish?  
  
"Hey, Bill, glad you made it out," Harry managed, when he saw the tall boy reclined in the bed. He did look all right, too; his long hair was neat, his skin was unmarked, and he had a smile on his face. He was rather pale, and his voice was kind of scratchy, but he seemed none the worse for wear.  
  
"Hey, Harry," Bill greeted him with a slight lift of his chin. Bill was so cool. He even made kicking back in a hospital bed into something stylish. "I wouldn't have made it out, if not for Snape," he added.  
  
Harry was instantly at his side, eyes round, hands clutching at the young man's hospital clothes. "What happened? You saw Se—you saw Snape? Is he still alive? Is he all right? Where was he when you left? How did you escape?"  
  
"Jeez, Harry," Ron rolled his eyes, "if you'd come in with the rest of us, you'd have gotten all of that already."  
  
Harry ignored him, as Bill gave him another ready smile. "Wow, that all came at me pretty fast. How do you want it? Chronologically, in order of importance, what?"  
  
"Is he alive?" Harry squeezed out, not sounding overly anxious, but not wholly unconcerned.  
  
Bill looked at his hands, his smile fading. "He was when I left. That was something like thirty-six hours ago, though. Listen, Harry...he couldn't even do anything right away. They had people guarding me. They don't trust him. He volunteered to watch me—and then he let me loose. I'm pretty sure he knew what that would cost him. He's doing a very dangerous job, Harry. But he knows the risks. It's because of his bravery and selflessness that I'm still alive today. He was still alive when I left," he said again, after seeing the look on Harry's face. "Don't give up hope. Look, he wanted me to give this back to you." Turning, he picked up a folded something from beside the bed. "He said he trusted you not to use it for 'that' sort of thing anymore. Whatever that means to you," he added, handing Harry the Invisibility cloak.  
  
Harry ran his hands over the smooth fabric, biting back tears. That was easier, with people watching. Snape wasn't the only person glued together by pride. He couldn't say anything out loud, but he promised himself, whatever happened between Blaise and himself in the future, his dad's old cloak would never play a part of it. They did this within the rules from now on, or not at all. He'd be able to give Severus that, at least. "Thanks, Bill," he said, his voice breaking only a very little, and Bill squeezed his arm.  
  
"No worries, mate. He's a tough old git, is Snape. He'll pull through. You'll see." He smiled and winked at Harry, letting himself fall back against the pillow, and Harry tried not to look him in the eyes, but smiled at the dragon's tooth that dangled from his ear.  
  
Snape had been recovered by the time they returned to Hogwarts. Harry approached Dumbledore, his entire body a mass of nervous tension. "Can I see him?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. There were too many people here; too many ears. Everyone was trying to figure out what was going on; rumors were flying, and students were finding any excuse to try to walk past the hospital wing and rubberneck.  
  
"Not right now," Dumbledore told him, gently. "Too many others have been past, watching carefully. How would it seem if someone supposedly loyal to Voldemort were seen being nursed by the one proclaimed to one day bring about his downfall? It's all right, Harry. I'm very glad you wish to stand by him now. It would be welcome, I think, were you to make use of your most advantageous cloak after classes tonight."  
  
The man joined Harry as he sat, invisible, at Severus's side later that evening. Harry didn't take the cloak off until the doors to the room were shut, and no one appeared to be about to be let in anymore that night. Severus was silent, pale and tense. He hadn't been conscious since he'd been brought in. Even though he was not lucid, his whole body seemed to clench whenever Pomfrey tried to touch him, but he did not flinch under contact with Harry's skin, as the boy softly petted the back of his hand.  
  
"I'm very proud of you, Harry," remarked Dumbledore quietly, causing the boy to wince. "Cruelty and fear do not inspire loyalty. And there is one very important thing you are capable of that Voldemort is not." Harry frowned as he saw Snape twitch under the sheets at the mention of the name. "Harry...you have compassion. You have love. You are capable of these most noble of emotions. Do you understand what that means? Voldemort has never been able to grasp it." This time, Harry openly gave the man a dirty look, silently asking him not to say the name again. The effect it had on Severus was too unpleasant. "You would be surprised at the power it gives you," the old man continued tenaciously. "It draws them to you, like a moth to a flame. I did not think Severus would ever learn to trust again, but here we are, and he accepts your touch when he accepts no other. You call out to them; the same people he conquered through fear and bait. You use the very same knowledge that he wielded for a very different purpose. And so they come to you. Hungry for a moment of acceptance and understanding. And you give them this." He stood to leave Harry to his vigil. "This is what inspires loyalty," he quietly pointed out, before exiting. Harry ignored him. He didn't give a damn about any of that, because he wasn't the Boy Who Lived, not here, not now. He was the Boy Who Loved Snape, and that was all he was. There was no pride, here. Not where being with Snape was concerned. But he wanted the best for the man, not to get in the way. Not to make things worse.  
  
It was all becoming so complicated. He loved the man, admitted it freely. There was nothing he could do about that. The only thing he could offer was to not interfere. Snape didn't want anything else from him. And maybe, someday, he could kill Voldemort. That would be...good. For the first time, he wanted Voldemort dead, would accept being the cause of his death without complaint. He wanted Severus to be free. It was obvious to him that he'd never be able to make Snape happy, but he COULD, at least, give him this one thing. His freedom. His own life. And maybe he'd finally be at peace. To Harry, that was worth more than anything else that could be given.  
  
When Severus finally came to himself, it took him a little while to work out that he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, and no longer in a cage. He shuddered a little, and then felt a foreign weight on his leg shift slightly. He stayed still, trying to reason what it was. It was warm, and it seemed to move ever so slightly, almost as thought it were oscillating in time to his body's own rhythms—his heartbeat, his breathing.  
  
After a few moments, he cautiously tried raising himself up. He didn't get very far before having to halt, resting back on his elbows. His back was on fire, the muscles screaming in pain. Looking toward the foot of the bed in the darkness, he made out the silhouette of a messy-haired head, which was resting against his leg. The rest of Potter's body was in a chair beside the bed.  
  
"Well. It's good to see you're awake," a quiet, but pleased voice told him, and Severus looked up to see Albus Dumbledore join them. "Shh. Don't move, and let's try to be quiet, shall we? I daresay he needs the rest as much as you have."  
  
Severus frowned, but let the headmaster gently slide an extra pillow behind his back. It was extremely soft, and ordinarily would have been far too squashy for his taste, but at the moment, he could only be grateful. "How long have I...?"  
  
"You were found at what appeared to be an abandoned farmhouse in Hayfield nearly four days ago. You've been insentient since that time. We were very worried. We were making arrangements to move you to St. Mungos before the week was out, if you had not improved at all," the old man informed him, taking a seat and pulling the chair close.  
  
"He should be in bed," Severus said after a long pause, nodding at Harry. "It jeopardizes us both, having him here."  
  
"Indeed he should be in bed, but far be it for an old, powerful wizard like me to be able to get him there. And I shouldn't worry that anyone will see you; he'd sooner cut off his own right hand than endanger you further. He comes only at night, and he wears his cloak—and uses what I'm convinced is yours as a blanket—and refuses to budge until the other students are getting up. Now that you're among the wakeful, I believe we may be able to convince him to go back to sleeping in his own room." He twinkled merrily at the man. "Do not judge him too harshly, Severus. He did turn out to be very useful."  
  
"In what way?" Severus snapped, irritated. The boy didn't need to be 'useful,' he needed to be safe. And in his own damn bed.  
  
"Well, I do believe we never would have been able to heal your back, if not for his help." Dumbledore looked away, giving the man what mercy he could, simply by not staring.  
  
"You shouldn't have let him see that!" Snape gasped. The man did not turn his head, and Severus shifted. God, he hadn't wanted the boy to see that. His torn, ragged, bloody back was covered in lacerations by the time the Death Eaters had finished.  
  
"I'm afraid it could not be helped. There was...a residue of dark magic, deep within the cuts. They could not heal without being cleaned, but you would suffer no ministrations but his. Now, now," he soothed, as Snape frantically tried to sit up. "We all knew you were quite unaware of the situation, and not at all in control of your responses. Mister Potter simply has the remarkable ability to alleviate pain, I'm sure. No one thought less of you for it. And for Harry, I think the experience was a mostly positive one. He was able to cleanse the wounds with great aptitude, and seemed to be quite taken with the notion of putting the ability to a constructive use. It is not good for him, I think, to imagine he was put on this earth solely as some kind of pawn in the war against Voldemort. You ought to have seen how very pleased he was, realizing his ministrations were useful and needed."  
  
"Well. Then. So long as the twit managed not to do more damage than good, I suppose I ought not to complain." Severus blinked, feeling inexplicable solace at the idea that he might have given Harry some measure of pride in his own abilities, some small happiness with himself. It was odd, how very...warm the thought made him feel.  
  
"Have they discovered your function?" Dumbledore inquired softly, and it was a moment before Severus, wrapped up in his own thoughts, took his meaning.  
  
"What? No. No...this was just a routine punishment. No, I'd have been long dead if they'd realized I was a spy. This was nothing; a slap on the wrist for my perceived incompetence at letting the Weasley boy overcome me. Well. For the most part, it was nothing more. There was...a certain degree of interrogation, near the end, when the Dark Lord finally arrived on the scene."  
  
"He was not there for the duration?"  
  
"He was not there at all, when I arrived. He only attended...near the end." Severus swallowed. He did not want to discuss this, but knew the extreme danger of leaving Albus uninformed.  
  
"And he began to question you." Severus nodded an affirmation. "What did he do, and what did he wish to know?"  
  
Snape let out a long exhalation through his nose. "He used the Crucatius Curse. And really, what does he ALWAYS want to know? I wonder if he has any inkling of how tediously repetitive it is, constantly demanding I account for Potter's every movement, and asking why I have not brought the boy to him." Snape wrapped his arms around himself, the warmth gone from his thin frame. He was caught up with memory of Voldemort, and did not notice the cessation of movement against his leg, as Harry's deep, supposedly sleeping breaths stopped dead for a few moments. "The man is nothing if not persistent. I suspect it will be more of the same, when next he summons me. He is obsessed with the boy. It twists his already twisted mind just a little more every day, knowing that Harry Potter still walks and breathes and exists." He paused. "I fear we are fast closing in on a fateful moment; the point of no return is looming above us all, and even the Death Eaters can sense it. The Dark Lord is becoming so...manifestly unstable; I think his followers are becoming nervous. Lucius is observably restless; he paces when he thinks no one is watching, and his eyes flicker resentfully toward his master. I think he may attempt a power play."  
  
"Yes, it is unsurprising that Voldemort may not have complete control over his adherents. Chaos will undoubtedly grow, as the more desperately he attempts to maintain his authority. He has not learned that by seeking to dominate all, he spreads himself too thin, and cannot keep eyes everywhere."  
  
"You do," Severus remarked caustically.  
  
"Much of appearing to know everything comes from accepting you will never be able to do so and, of course, from letting others assume that you do. In any case, I believe you are right when you say Voldemort is becoming deranged. There have been nearly twenty disappearances over the past weeks that I believe are connected to him. And, of course, you know about Fenton Flaherty." The old man sounded very tired.  
  
"Yes. The Dark Mark above his house, his four daughters dead. He will not be the last." Severus's voice was colorless.  
  
Both men were silent for a long while before Dumbledore spoke again. "When Voldemort asked you about Harry, what did you tell him?"  
  
"Nothing!" Severus snarled viciously. "I told him nothing! He will get no knowledge of the boy from me! He will get not a single word, not a glimpse of a memory that would aid him in harming that boy! I will rip each and every thought from my head, and render my lips unable to say the words, before I let that monster use me to get to him! I swear it; whatever evil he may achieve, whatever harm he may be able to inflict on Potter, it will not have been due to my knowledge! Already, I plunder my own memories ruthlessly before facing the man, and I would sooner break my Pensieve and lose them forever, than to give them to him."  
  
"I believe you, Severus," said Dumbledore wearily, and Harry, listening intently, thought this conversation sounded rehashed, old. "I am not accusing you of anything. What I meant was what I said. Not 'Did you tell him about Harry?' but 'What DID you tell him?' Did you follow the plan as outlined? Why did he feel it necessary to inflict such damage on you?"  
  
Snape gave a bitter snort. "To my Lord, Cruciatus is not an extreme punishment at all. It is merely a game; a way of keeping himself amused. I. I don't know precisely what I said to him. When I was allowed, between screams, to speak at all, I did your bidding. I do not think, however, that I was allowed to say very much, or that he listened closely." Severus leaned back on the bed, letting his eyes fall closed. "Albus," he whispered, "there is an ominous cast to the shadows tonight. Every word I say echoes in my head, and I wonder if it will be my last. Things are coming to a head. For the first time in a very long time, I fear tomorrow, and I do not fear for myself." He turned, fixing Dumbledore with his dark gaze. "Promise me, Albus, promise me, please; do not let Harry face him, yet. He is not ready. He knows many defenses, and is very powerful regardless of his youth, but he is still so, still so...still so very, very unready for this. I do not know where I will be tomorrow, or tomorrow, or tomorrow...or how much time I have left to strut and fret my hour upon the stage before I go forth, to make my way toward dusty death. I only know that I will not have him follow me into its dark maw. I refuse to be his weakness. You must watch him. And if the worst should befall me, and he reacts as I think he would, you must stay his hand. He is too important. He must not be wasted on me."  
  
Dumbledore looked at the shaken, frail man now limp in the bed before him, such a far cry from the bitter, proud, hateful persona he worked so hard to maintain. "You have taught him what he needed to learn from you," Albus whispered, his eyes alight with their usual twinkle, but somehow suffused with a tender understanding. "You need not fear for the boy. He will only be exactly where he is supposed to be. I will make certain of that. And I assure you, whatever the boy does or says; he will not have been wasted. He touches lives, one at a time, unaware of it and, in doing so, has sculpted souls. They are the little lives he touches, people who are unaware of their own meaning in the greater scheme of things. Dobby, Lucius Malfoy's servant, was so taken with the boy that he risked a great deal to save him and now, after his release, adores Harry like no other. His magical power is great, and he would use it for undreamed of things, if only Harry asked it. Ron Weasley, with his deep insecurities and perceived shortcomings, was befriended by Harry and loved as a sort of brother Ron had not imagined, although he has five others. The Weasleys, though certainly inclined to our cause, might never have thrown themselves so fully behind it, were they not so determined to aid the boy at any cost. Hermione Granger, with her desperate need to prove her own worth and ability, is bolstered enormously by Harry, simply because of his trusting dependence on her skill and judgment. He sees her as someone valuable, and she works every day to prove that she is, indeed, someone valuable. Hagrid, his gentle nature so often misunderstood or overshadowed by his intimidating appearance, was immediately loved and accepted, forever, and unconditionally, by Harry. To him, Harry walks on water. He would kill, or die, or move the earth itself, if it were in Harry's best interests. Even Blaise Zabini—yes, you needn't voice your feelings—Zabini, as I said, who is in many ways a Slytherin—cunning, treacherous, devious—is discovering other, deeper qualities within himself, after having known and been known by Harry. You, yourself, could not have trusted so much, could not have given so much, to any other. No, Severus. He could never be wasted. If he were to die this moment, he would still have done more than many very old men accomplish in their very long lives." Dumbledore gave Severus a look over his spectacles and Severus looked away.  
  
"Yes. I could not tell you why it is so, but it is easy to be drawn to him. There is an openness, a truthfulness, a—a faith there that burns bright and hot. And we are all drawn to it, like moths to a flame. I am sure he does not notice what he is doing—why should he, and what does he do, anyhow? He just IS. That is enough. He meets each moment with an earnestness, an unintentional beauty, a gracious endurance...coupled with his humor, and zeal, and clumsiness...somehow, when it is all bundled together, and becomes what IS Harry Potter, it is very appealing. It is...irresistible." He lowered his lashes, unwilling and unable to look the Headmaster in the eye.  
  
To his surprise, he heard the old man chuckle. "Yes, I think that is probably the correct term for everything about it. Or close to. Unavoidable, perhaps. Unalterable. Ineffable. In any case, it all comes together to become something better accepted than fought against. I know you have never believed it, Severus, but great strength can be gained by surrender. One must simply realize the correct time and place to do so. When we are at a crossroads, and that which we need is also that which we fear most...and there is the option of facing it, and doing something never done before...that takes true courage, Severus. It is at that crossroads you will discover what you truly are. You will face the fire. But you must step into the flames, if you are to test if you are worthy of passing through them unscathed. And the only way to be worthy of passing through them unscathed is to be brave enough to make the attempt. Quite the conundrum, isn't it?" Albus gave him the usual mysterious smile, catlike and ancient, before leaning back in his chair.  
  
Severus was deep in thought over the man's words, unsure of their meaning. The man never said anything without reason, and never in the wrong place or time. But this was very ambiguous, and Severus was strangely averse to asking for clarification. He glanced up at the man, confusion written on his face, and heard Albus, though his face was in shadow, speak again. "And the journey through the flames is worth every sacrifice, though it smothers you and stokes you and consumes you; when you first take a breath on the other side, you will know the meaning of purification. And you will understand, though understanding is very small compared to the elation you will feel. Don't worry; you do not need to be sure-footed in the fire. If you did not fear, it would be no adventure. You must only be willing to take the chance."  
  
After a long moment, another voice spoke, and it was all Harry could do to lie still. "I think it's time Harry went back to his room." Remus's voice was hoarse and tired, and he did not seem to have heard any of the earlier conversation.  
  
"Yes. That would be best," Snape said, sounding oddly unenthusiastic. "I have...I have too many other things to deal with, just now. I doubt if I can handle...another burden." That hurt. Oh, it hurt to say it.  
  
Oh, it hurt to hear it. When Lupin touched his shoulder, Harry shook his head; pretended to be roused. "Severus," he whispered. He wanted to give that, whatever it cost him. He wanted the man to know it was his first thought, even if it hadn't taken place quite when it was spoken.  
  
"Shhh. He's all right," Lupin assured him, and Harry turned a sleepy face to the man. Lupin bent smoothly to Harry's side, and wrapped strong, if thin arms around the boy, lifting him effortlessly. "You need your sleep. In a real bed."  
  
"Go to bed, Harry," he heard Severus say in a curious voice. "I'll be fine. I will see you in your classes tomorrow. You need rest, now. We both need rest. Go with Lupin."  
  
Harry let his head fall against Remus's shoulder. He blinked still-hazy eyes at Severus, wishing he could explain. Wishing he could tell the truth, tell everything, just once. Wishing Severus knew. Harry could not think of any way to convey to the man how exceptional he was, how beloved. He could not imagine anyway to form the phrase so that the man would want to hear it. He watched the Potions Master intently as he was carried from the room. He could feel the sentiments rise to his throat, choking him.  
  
Severus watched Harry being taken away, unprotesting. Those enormous green eyes pierced his heart; they were so full of unidentifiable emotion. No one had ever looked at him that way before. Perhaps no one would, ever again. Who could ever look at him with such intensity? No one at all, outside of Harry Potter. As Snape watched him be taken from the room, he saw the boy's small lips part in the dimness, his open mouth revealing itself as a darker shadow, imprinted on the boy's face, and Snape leaned forward to catch the word Harry whispered. "Severus..." Snape had to swallow once or twice, before he could rest against the pillows again, and attempt to find sleep once more. 


	28. Like Moths to a Flame Did I just use tha...

(A wink to phoenix in the term fine lines, some Emily barrett browning....and, squee! Two scenes that I wrote long ago, just being goofy. And there is also a reference to grindylowe's "Twofish," which you should definitely check out if you like Good Omens stuff. BTW, I thought about a number of titles for this chap; something soap opera sounding, or 'Slytherins Are Sex Fiends'...except that would have been misleading, because it didn't happen for the reason you'll think it did...you just won't find that out right away... This one is mostly humor, I actually would have gotten to more shipper stuff, but I was on page 13 and, once again, went, DAMN this one is getting long...so, another 'intermission,' if you would.  
  
POA SPOILER...POA SPOILER...POA SPOILER...POA SPOILER I'm sure everyone has seen PoA by now...That scene in the Shrieking Shack was rather slashy, wasn't it? Except they're both so hideous...Ah, well. And Snape, throwing himself in front of them to protect them from Lupin! Squee! Buckbeak was my favorite part; he was so well done! Flawless animation—MUCH better than the crappy stuff they've done before. Draco was so cute when he freaked out! I like him all whiny and scared. They sure left out some important stuff though, didn't they? I mean, God...didn't even say who made the map, or that Harry's dad was a deer OR an Animagus... DONE WITH SPOILER...DONE WITH SPOILER...DONE WITH SPOILER...  
  
Thanks to all: KaillyMerlin, KittyWillow, Agar, ataraxis, odessaspacey1, Dominic.R.(), Chantelli, Menecarkawan, Nemo Returning, The-Magnificent- Fuzzy, AmericanWitch and the rest of you!  
  
Adele Sparks; I'm so glad you liked that! I like the idea of strength through surrender as well, especially with a character like Snape, who has learned NOT to trust people. As for my 'beautiful' line (you make me blush, such compliments!), it was also there to give Harry an insight about what is important to Severus...because, after all, if it's important to someone you love, you ought to consider it important, as well...setting up for another (hopefully beautifully moving) scene near the end.  
  
Livingwater; I don't think I'm that 67 year old woman who stayed late and exasperated you so...unless I am a werewoman. A weregrandma, or something. And switch into the shape of senior citizen when the moon shines down on the geritol or something...  
  
Iaurhirwen; indeed they are...The Scottish Play's lines...(throws salt over her shoulder) I get more into it in here...  
  
Meggplant; that's really funny! Who knew? I wait with baited breath for her next chapter...if by bait you mean, 'vodka tinged,' anyhow. I'm glad you're enjoying my stuff...Sevvie Junior will make an appearance in one of the future chapters...StarryGazer)  
  
Chapter 31: Like Moths to a Flame (Did I just use that phrase?! Good  
Christ, I HATE MOTHS!)  
  
Just a few nights later, they were all back in detention, scribbling furiously. Harry paid every word that fell from the man's lips special attention. Snape moved slowly, stiffly, and the agony he endured was etched upon his face in barely discernible fine lines. When he spoke, the rancor and irony that had liberally coloured his speech was conspicuously absent. Harry hated that. He hated how the man had softened around the edges, and seemed to make the effort to be kind to them. He wondered if it meant the Potions Master had been broken. He speculated about if Snape thought he was going to die, soon, and was trying to make some sort of piece before he went. The thought made Harry very, very angry. He wasn't sure why, or at whom, but he could taste bile at the back of his throat.  
  
"Many magical artifacts are, in fact, not terribly useful." Snape told them quietly. "Can anyone 'aside-from-you-Granger' tell me why?"  
  
"Ah, because they're so bloody famous everyone knows what'll stop them?" Ron guessed.  
  
"An overly simplistic explanation." Snape sighed. "Potter, what about you? You've seen a few. You all have, though I doubt you recognized them. Ask yourself; where does one shop for a sword of Gryffindor?"  
  
"Er..." Harry said. "You can't. Um. I mean; you can't buy a sword of Gryffindor—there's only one, and I don't think it's for sale. Is that what you're after? That magical artifacts are rare and dear?"  
  
"Indeed," Snape inclined his head. "And many of them are quite flashy, drawing the eye. There are only a handful of legendary charmed objects of which more than one copy was made. This means they are somewhat less expensive than items of the exclusive variety. Unfortunately, most of the more common artifacts are infused with extremely dark magic. Stepping stones which ensnare the unwary walker, candles or lamps whose smoke is a confusing, mind-slowing fume, necklaces that strangle the wearer—"  
  
"That's right!" Harry exclaimed. "Like that one I saw in Knockturn Alley!" He flushed as Snape turned to him, both eyebrows shooting up. "Er, back in second year," he explained bashfully. "It was kind of an accident. I saw the Malfoys there. They were selling stuff."  
  
"Indeed," Severus replied, returning to the chalkboard. "The Malfoy estate is a veritable wonderland of dark magic. If I wanted to show you an example of each and every dark artifact ever created—at least, those within Lucius's power to buy—I'd take you there and let you run around the grounds a bit. Of course, you'd all be dead within minutes." He raised a brow at their engrossed faces. "Lucius takes house security very seriously. However, there are a few items of less...destructive composition to be had. Rings of 'Refuge' may be found in a few dusty shops—for an extremely prohibitive price, of course. If you have the money, it is almost worth it. A Ring of Refugium is one of the few items inconspicuous enough to get away with, and it will absorb great amounts of pain, leaving the wearer clear- headed in even the most excruciating circumstance. They may allow one to survive situations that one usually could not—at least, not with one's sanity intact..."  
  
As class ended, Harry approached the man's desk quietly. "Sir?"  
  
"What is it, Potter?" the man replied. He sounded tired, reluctant, but not irritable or cross.  
  
"Ah. I'll be at Hogsmead this weekend. Um. Christmas, you know? I've reserved the Three Broomsticks—it'll be a grand Christmas party; decorations, dancing, all that stuff you hate. It's a teenage thing, mostly. Only one adult will be there outside of the employees, and that'll be Tonks. It's just an excuse to, you know, let it out...get a little wild and crazy and release some of the tension we've all been feeling."  
  
"It sounds utterly wretched. Repugnant, even. Is there some reason you're divulging this information to me?" He scowled at the boy challengingly.  
  
Harry laughed. "Yeah, I knew you'd hate the sound of it. It's not really my kind of thing, either, to tell you the truth. Um. But I wondered; if you had a chance, would you possibly consider stopping by? Just for a couple of moments? I'd like to. Er. That is, I sort of have a present for you and. We decided to um. To put them under the tree in the pub. Hagrid got them a really great tree; you should see it! But, um. Anyway, it'll be there. If you want it. And I...I. You don't have to come, of course. It doesn't matter." Severus's eyebrow was slowly arching incredulously. 'Damn, fucking burning hot face.' He thought he'd finally gotten that licked. "Like I said, I know it's not really your type of thing. I don't want to try to force you into anything you wouldn't enjoy. I'd just. I'd really like to see you. There. Is all." Harry swallowed.  
  
"And exactly who else has been invited to this little festivity?" Snape enquired.  
  
Harry shrugged. "Well, not everyone. Ron and Hermione. Er. Seamus, Padma, Dean, Jack...Blaise...Malfoy...a few other Slytherins." He grew defensive at the teacher's heated look. "I'm TRYING to make PEACE with the Slytherins, all right? And I'm trying to get them to make peace with each other."  
  
"Harry. You must see that that would be a truly bad idea. Anywhere Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy are, you and I should not be seen together. And. Really, I honestly would prefer not to attend, if even for a moment. As you said, it is not my...scene, or what have you."  
  
He was surprised when Harry gave him a half smile, not looking at all crushed. He wondered why it made him feel strangely wistful. "It doesn't matter," the boy told him. "I knew you wouldn't want to come. But I still think you should; Lupin is dropping by, too, you know. Just long enough to get HIS gifts. We aren't actually going to let him STAY. I mean, I love him and all, but the parental act he's been doing lately is kind of a downer." They both managed a weak laugh at this. Harry offered Snape another smile and wave, and the man nodded goodbye.   
  
Harry sat inside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, where it was warm enough to drape their cloaks over the backs of their chairs. Blaise had had an odd craving for ice cream, of all things, so he dragged them to the shop, where they must have looked decidedly odd, peeling off mittens and heavy cloaks to get at the sweets. The group of friends decided to meet the day before the party. Harry shared a banana-strawberry split with Seamus Finnegan, who had convinced him that, as a relative newcomer to the gay male scene, the last thing he needed was to get fat. Blaise had scoffed at that and, as a rebuttal, had ordered a triple-decker "Fortescue's Palatable Pillar of Pleasure," a formidable treat made of tiers of chocolate and butterscotch ice cream, caramel syrup, nuts, cherries and whipped cream. Harry was sick just looking at it.  
  
Harry listened to the chatter around him as he pushed his food around, letting Seamus do most of the eating. His mind could not stay on the present conversation, but kept wandering back to words spoken almost a week ago. 'It jeopardizes us both, having him here.' Jeopardizes. I put him in jeopardy. He's in danger because of me. They only want him because of me. They're using him to try to get to me. Harry couldn't let that happen. '...Another burden...' But he had been, hadn't he? '...refuse to be his weakness...' but Harry didn't want to be Severus's weakness, either.  
  
"Come on, Harry," he heard Blaise say. "Why don't we take some time to ourselves? Find somewhere to be alone for a little while?"  
  
He shrugged, not really feeling up to it. "Maybe some other time," he offered.  
  
Blaise frowned at his distracted...friend? "Yeah? It's not like we're here all that often, you know. Some other time? Like when?"  
  
"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow..." Harry muttered, not even hearing himself.  
  
"Harry!" he started, looking up to see Hermione beaming at him. "I didn't know you knew any Shakespeare! Do you like Macbeth?"  
  
"Shakespeare?" he responded, slowly understanding. "Ah. I knew it was familiar. No, I mean; yes, but I'd just heard someone say it recently, and I guess it kind of stuck in my head." He noticed Ron and Seamus were looking at him oddly, and he realized it was kind of out of character to be like this; gloomy, passive, throwing random Shakespearian quotes at them. He cleared his throat. "Sorry."  
  
"Well," said Blaise, attempting to lighten the mood, "I've never been that fond of his stuff. The sonnets were all well and good, but...I prefer other Muggle writers. Keats. Browning. 'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.'" He took a great lick from his cone. "I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach—"he paused, working his tongue over the chocolate again, causing Ron to turn rather green and avert his eyes. "...I love thee freely, as men strive for Right..." Harry stared, amused, as the boy interspersed the verses with pauses to eat his ice cream in the most indecent way imaginable. "...I shall but love thee better, after death," he finished, running a tongue around the outside of his mouth, which was coated with sticky residue. He gave Harry a naughty smile.  
  
Harry laughed, turning the boy's leer to a scowl. "God, Blaise," he snickered. "Only you could make Shakespeare into a lewd version of a tootsie roll pop commercial."  
  
Blaise stuck out his tongue. "It wasn't Shakespeare," he informed Harry. "It was Browning. Ignorant arse."  
  
Just then a voice called out, "Harry!" and Harry turned to see Tonks and Hagrid walking toward them, with Severus grudgingly in tow.  
  
"Hey!" he cried, and leapt up to give Tonks a hug. "Oh, man, is it ever great to see you! Everyone! It's the most bitchin' witch that ever was! Whadda we say?"  
  
"To Tonks!" everyone at the table immediately responded, lifting their ice creams or spoons as though raising glasses of champagne. "Tonks! Tonks! Tonks!" She laughed, waving them to silence as Severus glared. He could not fathom the meaning behind the bizarre little ritual.  
  
"Ah, and I'm glad to see you, too, Harry," she grinned at him, arm still around his shoulders.  
  
"Are you doing all right?" Harry inquired seriously. "Everything going well? You don't have to tell me anything. Just let me know if there's anything I can do for you, okay? Sincerely, I'll do it. You're one of the best, you know. I totally appreciate everything you've done for me."  
  
Tonks rolled her eyes, blushing a little. "You're a good man, Harry," she told him, proving why he liked her so much. "But oh, you do go on," she shoved him playfully, rather harder than she might have meant to do. He was knocked into the table, where he ended up sitting in what was left of the banana-strawberry split. He flinched. "Oops. Er. Sorry about that, mate," Tonks said anxiously, ducking her head.  
  
"Oh, don't worry about it," Harry told her resignedly. "These things just seem to happen to me."  
  
"Um, Harry," Finnegan began, "I hope you don't mind, but I think I'll forgo the rest of the ice cream. Particularly the bit you're wearing. I'll leave THAT for Zabini," he added, smiling sweetly at the Slytherin.  
  
"Thanks," Zabini replied dryly, spoon held casually, looking like a slender silver cigarette. "You'd just better." He winked at Harry, and Harry smiled weakly back.  
  
"Er, Harry? You been doin' all righ'?" Hagrid questioned, bushy eyebrows raised.  
  
"Sure, Hagrid, why wouldn't I be?" Harry wiped at his rear futilely with a napkin. He dimly heard Hermione say something about Flourish and Blotts.  
  
"What time is it, anyway?" he heard one of them ask.  
  
"No idea," he replied. "Threw my watch out recently. Piece of rubbish had been dead for months."  
  
Severus shook his head. "You no longer wear your watch? What do you use to—" he looked askance at Tonks.  
  
"Tell the time?" Harry smiled at him. "The position of the sun." Severus scowled at him. 'Cheeky little bastard,' "Everyone kept asking me why I went on wearing it when it was completely useless. Guess I'll have to find something else, won't I?"  
  
"Well...er." Hagrid interjected. "Would you mind if I happened to tag aroun' a bit with yeh today? Only it's a ways from Hogwarts, see, and dark things been goin' on..." he added in a bit of an undertone. He was twisting his hands a little, and Harry was touched. Hagrid was worried about him, wanted to be near to protect him, with Voldemort's recent increase in activity. Was that why Snape was there, as well? Most of his friends had left the table, heading unhurriedly for the bookstore.  
  
Harry looked at Snape questioningly, but the man, whose eyes were focused somewhere lower than Harry's own, took a few moments to notice. "For Merlin's sake, Potter, turn around. Can't you manage a simple cleaning charm? Here, let me clean you up. Your arse is covered with cream." Harry was turning, so he didn't get to linger on the sight, but he did see the man wince, and a dark red began to suffuse his face. He kept his back turned during the spell, hoping his shoulders weren't shaking too noticeably with suppressed laughter, or he'd really catch it. Who knew that Severus Snape could blush?  
  
"Um." He cleared his throat a little, when he'd managed to gain control. "Are you coming, too?"  
  
"Severus and I have things we've gotta do," Tonks told him regretfully, and Harry gave her a commiserating look. "I'll see you tomorrow, though..."  
  
Harry nodded. "Yeah, that'll be..." he trailed off, losing his concentration as he realized his friends were getting ahead of him. Most of them were already outside. "Oy!" he hollered at them, "You're about to lose the bloody Boy Who Lived! You can't leave without me! I'm supposed to be your freakin' Savior!"  
  
"Oh, that's RIGHT," Seamus yelled back, rolling his eyes and laughing. He was the only one not through the front door of the shop, by now. "Hey guys, wait! We forgot the decoy! I mean—the MESSIAH!" he shouted to the others.  
  
"Aw, man!" Harry exclaimed, running to catch up. "C'mon, Hagrid. You coming or what? Seamus, I'm telling you; that was sodding blasphemous!" he chided. "You just keep it up and I will SMITE you! I'll so totally smite your butts from here to Zimbabwe, you hear me?" Grinning, he nodded a goodbye to Tonks over his shoulder. "To stuff, right?"  
  
Tonks grinned and raised her hand in the air, too, like a toast. "And things!"  
  
"And fish!" They both chorused, and Harry laughed, closing the door to the shop behind him. Severus watched all this with an odd sense of dissatisfaction. He almost felt as though he had intruded in a happy, innocent little life—a private gathering of friends. For a long time now, he had been used to his solitude and isolation. He'd chosen it. He preferred it that way. So why, then, did he now have such a strange feeling in his stomach...of jealousy? He could hardly credit it, but for a brief moment, Severus Snape had...a wish to belong.  
  
Everyone was laughing. And dancing. And blowing things up. Or, at least playing with the latest inventions of the Weasley Twins, which amounted to the same thing. Rosemerta was kept hard at work, putting out small fires as much as serving the butterbeer. Tonks was kept busy by George, who was flirting mercilessly with her.  
  
When Draco Malfoy showed up, a silver decanter full of some strong substance was added to the punch, which Hermione had made, and this made the night all the better. Most everyone was getting a little giggly and stupid, but that didn't matter. Harry had three glasses, and although Tonks raised her eyebrows at the last one, she never said anything. She was well liked by Harry and his friends for a very good reason; so long as they followed what she considered to be the important rules (generally the ones that pertained to their safety) she let them mess about and get away with an awful lot of things that most other adults would have frowned on.  
  
She'd let them drink. And smoke, (Harry had tried it, but didn't like it. And stopped immediately when Tonks suggested developing a hacking cough wouldn't be a great asset if he ever had to run from Voldemort,) and snog all they liked. She stopped arguments from becoming fist-fights, the worst forms of magical retribution, and out and out shagging, but other than that, she stayed pretty hands-off. In return she was, of course, adored. She was the perfect chaperone for Harry's Christmas party. She was sensible, whimsical and, for the most part, really tolerant. She had a stack of gifts as high as her waist by the tree.  
  
Every gay guy in the upper classes had been invited, and most had come. Harry listened bemusedly as the Black Birds argued with the Little Red Riding Hoods about ways of getting Snape or Lupin to do something sexy for Christmas. "Oh, it's easy," Jack, who was head of the Reds, was telling them. ("Dark creatures just make me hot, all right?" he'd once told Harry.) The Black Birds were shaking their heads, but no one said anything. Apparently, their president had resigned a few weeks ago, and no one had stepped in to fill the shoes of 'Supreme Snape Seducer.'  
  
"What I want," one of the Slytherins was saying, "is to hear him say something dirty in that voice. He has such a good voice!"  
  
"A good voice?" said Harry scornfully. "A GOOD VOICE? Please. When God said, 'Let there be light,' he said it in that voice. A voice like that isn't a GOOD voice. It's a GOD's voice. It's a steamy, hard-on-inducing, earth-shaking, if-sex-was-concentrated-into-one-sound-it-would-be-THAT- sound sort of voice." There was a babble of enthusiastic agreement.  
  
Harry flushed when Jack rolled his eyes and said, 'Doesn't it just figure? Golden Boy becomes Black Bird." Harry couldn't help it. Snape's voice was gorgeous. Well. It was. He just wished he could hear it, just then.  
  
Everybody was having a fantastic time. A wonderful time. An enchanted, magnificent, tremendous, very good time. Except for Harry. He knew Severus wouldn't come. He'd steeled himself for the rejection when he went to ask the man. He shouldn't be disappointed just because he really didn't come. It was getting late. Only about an hour before midnight, and in just a few hours the gifts would be exchanged, and then the party would be over. And Severus's gifts would still be sitting there, like a group of unwanted, jilted brides.  
  
"Another round of punch!" he heard someone yell. "This one's my round!" Seamus cried. "And anybody that can get Lupin naked for Christmas gets crowned King of the Reds!" Harry shook his head, trying not to listen.  
  
"Hey; Harry..." he turned, or tried to turn, but found an arm around his middle. Blaise rested his head against Harry's back. "Let's find a quiet corner, shall we? Hmm? Or somewhere more secluded? I could give you a real Christmas gift."  
  
Harry held in a sigh. He liked Blaise, but he loved Severus. And wanted to be with Severus, even though he knew it would never happen. But being with Blaise, well, it was getting harder and harder to pretend. "When Tonks could come chasing after us at any time? Nah..." He felt Blaise stiffen in offense, and turned quickly. "Look, sweetheart; you know what I would really like? If and when we decide to do this...I want it to be more than what we usually do. You're special to me. You deserve for it to be special. You deserve to be treated like you're something important. And this would be...you know, my first time. I want it to be more than a quick grope in the broom closet. More than a fast fix in the Astronomy Tower. Something really great. So that I have this one brilliant memory, and even when Voldemort finally catches me, and when he's got me in so much pain it's as though he's pouring molten lead into my very bones, I can 'still remember you.' And still remember that. And have something to hold onto." He leaned his forehead against Blaise's, shutting his eyes. He wasn't exactly lying; he did want that. Just not with Blaise. After a moment or two, he realized Blaise was shaking. "What is it? What's wrong?" He pulled away, holding the boy by his shoulders.  
  
"Harry...I don't. I don't think I can give something like that. That's big, that's...just...bigger than I am." He shook his head and smiled wanly. "You just. God. You're too deep sometimes, you know? I'm afraid of drowning in you. Harry, I'm just...not like that. I need to think this over. I need some space, some time to sort myself out. Because...God, Harry. You're asking so much. I don't think you even realize how much you're asking."  
  
Harry stared at him. "Are you breaking up with me?"  
  
"No! No, not...exactly. I don't want to stop seeing you. I don't want you to feel tied down to me, though. And I want some space to be with other guys, too."  
  
"You want to BE WITH OTHER GUYS?" Harry demanded, starting to get angry. "You don't want to break up, but you want to be with other guys?"  
  
"I want to get some perspective! That's all! I want a chance to reevaluate this and decide whether I want to—to—bare my soul to someone, or just have meaningless sex with them! It's a big fucking decision! I'm unused to having deal with issues of this depth or magnitude! All right? Harry, I." His eyes were wide, desperate. "I think I love you," he whispered. "And perhaps you Gryffindors, in all your resplendent artlessness, are totally at home with it, but quite frankly, it scares the fuck out of me. I—I just need some time to think. That's all. Before making any big decisions."  
  
Harry took a couple of deep breaths, calming down. How could he have gotten angry with Blaise over this? How could he be such a fucking hypocrite? He didn't even love Blaise, and here he was, demanding the Slytherin's devotion. Not right. "Yeah. Okay," he said, wondering why it still hurt. "I guess I...I think I can understand that."  
  
"Good," Blaise replied, giving him an unsteady smile. "I'm going to. I'm going to...sit down or something, for a little while."  
  
Harry watched him sort of totter away, his mind a whirl of confusing thoughts and emotions. What a horrible Christmas. First Severus hadn't come, and now Blaise had ambiguously dumped him. Fuck. He needed another glass of punch. He was on his fifth, and flying high, wondering, 'What the hell did Draco PUT in there, anyways?' when Malfoy himself was suddenly next to him. For a hazy moment, he wondered if the alcohol was strong enough to be giving him hallucinations, but then Malfoy spoke.  
  
"Enjoying your party, Potter?" he sounded more subdued than he did ordinarily, but that didn't keep Harry from scowling.  
  
"Not particularly, if you want to know the truth," Harry finally admitted, looking glumly into his cup.  
  
"Sorry to hear that. I'm having a swell time. Um. How many glasses have you had?" Draco was looking at him sideways. Or perhaps the room was sideways. Harry wasn't certain, any more.  
  
He shrugged. "Lost count. Something over three. Five or six? Eh. Who cares?" He lifted the glass to his lips and was surprised to have it tugged loose from his hand. "What're you doin'?"  
  
Draco looked critically at the glass, which was still more than half full. He drank the whole thing down in one go, and Harry was impressed. Even a swallow of that stuff left his throat burning slightly. "Saving you the bother of finishing thish glass. This glash. Um. You know," Draco replied. "You're not...you shouldn't have so much...Do you have any idea what's IN this punch?"  
  
"I was JUST WONDERING about that!" Harry burst out enthusiastically, causing Draco to laugh. Harry was beaming at him, obviously a happy drunk. "And do you have any more of it?" Draco snickered and pulled another small flask from his pocket. "Oh, good show, man! Put it in, then," he gestured toward the bowl, which had been replenished with punch, but bereft of alcohol. "Go on, put it in!"  
  
"You've probably had enough," Draco said uncertainly. "I'VE probably had enough."  
  
"Yeah, but there are fifty or sixty other people here. Have THEY all had enough? Go on..." he pushed Draco over to the bowl, and clapped when the Slytherin tilted the container and poured the slightly green liquid in. "HEY EVERYONE," Harry yelled, right next to Draco's ear. He flinched, giving the Gryffindor a dirty look. "Get some more punch! This round's on me!" Harry laughed when he was pushed out of the way by the teenagers, who were more than happy to imbibe. Draco rolled his eyes. A magnanimous drunk, as well.  
  
He was startled when Draco yanked on his arm, saying, "Move it, Potter. How stupid do you have to be to recognize a stampede when you see one?" Harry was still contemplating this, unmoving, so Draco pulled harder. Harry stumbled into the blond, who promptly tripped into one of the chairs, and found himself with a lapful of Harry. At any other time they both would have been horrified, but Draco had had four glasses of the punch that had been inbued with "Draco Malfoy's Own Vatted, 200-proof, Ultra-Enchanted, Thrice-Distilled Moonshine" (Patent Pending). And Harry'd had five. Or six. So they merely burst into hysterical laughter.  
  
"Get off me, Potter," Draco whined. "You're putting my legs to sleep." He gave Harry a push, sending him crashing to the floor. Snickering again, Draco offered his hand, and Harry pulled himself up.  
  
"Oh, thanks a heap, Malfoy," he groaned, pulling a chair over to sit next to him. "Like I'm not clumsy enough on my own, you have to go and get me drunk, too?"  
  
Draco gave him a not-very-apologetic grin. "Sorry." He swallowed a couple of times, and Harry noticed that he was even paler than usual. He met Harry's eyes for a moment, before looking away. "And I'm...sorry about outing you, and that."  
  
"Yeah. Why DID you, though? I mean...you didn't seriously think I'd do it, did you?" He looked over the Slytherin, puzzled. He was finding it hard to focus.  
  
Draco shrugged, still not looking at him. "Thought it would be funny," he muttered. "I kind of didn't expect you to turn around and scream about it from the Gryffindor tabletop. Although that, at least, really WAS rather funny." He gave Harry a wry smile. Harry smiled back. "At any rate...I heard your little argument with Blaise, earlier. About him wanting to do other guys?" Harry's smile froze. "Look..." Draco said softly, "you actually made it longer with him than anyone else ever has, if that helps at all. Most guys are just a one-night thing, to Blaise. I managed to make it a whole week with him. It's not his fault, exactly. He can't help catting around, it's like some sort of feral urge or something."  
  
"Don't talk about him like that," Harry said sharply, nails digging into his palms.  
  
Draco looked surprised. "You're still being protective of him, aren't you?" He chuckled bitterly and looked away. "Still, that's just your job, isn't it? Protect the whole fucking world."  
  
"Yeah, that's me," Harry agreed, sounding just as bitter. "Take the pain, absorb the blow, annihilate the bad guy, probably get fried in the process...all part of a day's work, for wonderful Harry fucking Potter. I need another drink."  
  
"No, you don't." Draco immediately responded. "You're already drunk enough. And so am I." He was looking at Harry strangely. "I must be drunk; I could swear you seemed...almost attractive, for a moment, with your creamy skin and the flush of rose staining your cheeks. It's the drink that does that, you know." Harry wasn't sure what he meant. He was hardly paying attention, looking over Draco's shoulder. Blaise was leaning close to Jack, smiling suggestively and talking animatedly. Chatting him up. Harry felt jealousy roaring up inside. Thank God Severus didn't do things like that; it would probably kill him. Stupid Blaise.  
  
"Let's find a place to make out," he suggested.  
  
Draco looked shocked. "There's a toilet down the hallway," he responded, sounding on autopilot. His face still blank, he let Harry pull him to his feet and drag him along. "Are you doing this to get back at Blaise?" he asked shrewdly, as Harry maneuvered him into the bathroom.  
  
"Yeah. Are you doing this to get back at ME?" Harry threw back, shutting the door and pressing his lips against Draco's.  
  
"Probably," Draco conceded in a muffled voice.  
  
Running his hands through the silvery hair in drunken abandon, he felt Draco's hands all over him. As Harry slid his hands downward, The blond's breath became short, and Harry heard him whimper. He jerked his hands back up and whispered, "We don't have to do this if you don't want to, you know."  
  
"Potter," Draco moaned, "For fuck's sake, you don't need to speak to me as if I were some kind of blushing virgin bride. And if I want you to stop doing something, you're damn well going to know, because I'm going to knee you in the crotch."  
  
Half an hour later, the restroom door was yanked open, and Tonks and Snape stood framed in the doorway. "I knew I'd find the two of you here," Snape growled at them.  
  
"You did? Really?" Harry said, blinking in the sudden light. "If people want to find me and the first place they think to look is in the WC, where I'm making out with Draco Malfoy, there must be some REALLY odd rumors flying around about me."  
  
"Harry," Tonks said gently, pulling him out, "if I'd known you were THAT drunk, I would have taken you home."  
  
Harry glanced at Draco's face, feeling irked. "Oh, so I'd have to be REALLY DRUNK, then, would I?" he replied belligerently.  
  
"Or stupid," Snape agreed. Draco was staring at Harry, who'd had absolutely no reason to stand up for him. It made him feel...strange.  
  
"It's time for presents," Tonks said quietly. "I don't think anyone realized where you went, and we are not going to enlighten them. I think it would be smart if you both kept your mouths shut. No one would approve, you know."  
  
"I don't care who approves," Harry grumbled, trailing behind. He felt a hand on his arm, and turned to see Draco, looking serious and sober.  
  
"She. She's right, Harry," the boy said, looking, for some strange reason, rather frightened. "We won't do this again."  
  
"Suit yourself," Harry shrugged, looking surprised. He didn't care one way or the other. And Snape. Snape was here! Draco was walking toward the front door, which seemed curious to Harry. Leaving before presents? He'd thought Draco far too acquisitive for that.  
  
Just before Harry rounded the corner, he heard Draco call to him in a quiet, shaky voice. "Watch your back, Harry. Don't go into any more WCs with strangers. He's after you, Harry. You know that, don't you? He's after you." Harry whirled to face the Slytherin, but Draco was gone.  
  
(Don't be too hard on Draco; this is plot, my poppets. We get a little kinky fun stuff in the next chapter. Nudity and Pornographic Literature! Woo-hoo! Please read and review, as usual! It really does help me want to write when I've had a long day...StarryGazer) 


	29. Gifts: Large, Small, Naked, Deep and Hon...

(Once again, I seriously underestimated what scenes I would be able to cram into a chapter. This time, I was on page twenty before moaning, 'Oh, holy hell. Gonna hafta chop it up. So I did. So sue me. I went with NIN, in this chapter, btw. Which means nothing to any of you, probably, except Shadowphoenix. It just seemed more like a teenaged boy, is all. I have nothing AGAINST Auden, per se... And I apologize if the Latin isn't quite right. I had to rely on my roomie, who is brilliant, but uninterested. So if any of you know it, and can give me any corrections, just let me know!  
  
It's just a dirty little prank. The ramifications of the last chapter do not hit till the next chapter. Which is turning out very good, if I do say so myself. I think you'll rather like it.  
  
My deepest thanks to Kudama, Dominic, Chantelli (thx for the heads up; I'll correct it in the final version of this monster) The-Magnificent-Fuzzy, Vasquez1987, lyres (I apologize in advance for next chapter) KittyWillow (I keep thinking 3 or 4 chapters, but then they get a mind of their own) tinkita, odessaspacey1, Awen (same as w/lyres), Iaurhirwen, lorenna, and all the rest of you nuts that keep me at my keyboard!  
  
Princess Nekita: I'm so glad you're enjoying it! You will like the next chapter, if I don't end up having to chop it in half again. Ever closer to the goal...I like my Snape like I like my coffee; snarkey. No, wait, maybe it's 'hot' and 'bitter?' But I only like extra sweet coffee! Eh. Anyway, smoke yourself some of chapter thirty-two, my lovely little addict, and tell me how you like it.  
  
Adele Sparks: Yes, the world would be a better place if we all got a chance to get drunk and make out with a Slytherin. I'm really happy you liked my Tonks; it's been so long since I read the books I hardly remembered her, and wasn't sure how to handle it. I'd had her in that fantasy for a long time, though, because she's young and hip compared to the rest of the Order, so I decided to just go with it. I LOOOOOOVE Alan Rickman's voice—I have all these crazy odds and ends with his voice on it—'Stella Street,' 'Refuse to Dance,' a Shakespearean Sonnet (My Mistress' Eyes)...sigh. And so, my dear, this is my (way early) Christmas gift to you; because if I could get Alan Rickman or Severus Snape to say anything the least bit dirty, I would!  
  
This chapter is dedicated to Adele Sparks: I almost had him do W.H. Auden, but it just wasn't dirty enough...well, it was, but not fun dirty. It was poetic dirty, and that took all the fun out. Enjoy yourself! StarryGazer)  
  
Chapter 32: Gifts: Large, Small, Naked, Deep and Honeyed  
  
Harry felt guilty when Blaise insisted he open his gift first. He shouldn't have gotten so drunk. He shouldn't have made out with Draco Malfoy. He shouldn't have been upset with Blaise in the first place. He undid the bow and wrappings to find a beautiful, shimmery, silvery-green cloak. "Wow," he said. "This is. This is really great, Blaise. This must have cost a lot," he added, running a finger over the trim, which was embroidered with small, tasteful Japanese dragons and phoenixes. It was thick and warm, as well.  
  
"It was nothing," Blaise smiled, and turned to find Hermione unexpectedly handing him a gift. "You got something for me?" he sounded uncertain.  
  
Harry turned back to the tree, and slipped away to find Severus's gifts. He sure owed the man SOMETHING, for what he just put him through. Sometimes he just didn't know what was wrong with him. Although he suspected being a teenaged boy with enslaving, overwhelming, and above all, unquenched hormones had something to do with it. "Here," he said quietly, as he approached the Potions Master, who was sitting surreptitiously in a corner of the room. He set the packages on the man's lap. "These are for you."  
  
Severus grimaced before opening the first, the larger one. 'Stupid boy. What the hell was he thinking? I bloody well don't have the right to feel this jealous, not when I pushed him away as hard as I could. I wanted this. Well, not THIS. I wanted him to be happy, to be safe. I wanted him to be with someone his own age. Not Draco Malfoy, per se, but...I wanted him to have a chance with someone who wasn't forcing him into it. Someone whose personality did not completely overpower his own. So why does he seem to be drawn to exactly that type of male? Oh, bloody hell.' He quickly tore open his gift, then gaped in astonishment. "This is your cloak, Harry," he said when he saw it. "It was your father's. Surely you're not..."  
  
"I am, actually. I have a new one," he held Blaise's gift up. "Handsome, isn't it? So I don't really need another. Besides, you need it more than I do. Because of everything going on. And," he continued cheerfully, "because I'm not giving yours back."  
  
Severus managed a twisted smile at that. "Thieving wastrel," he commented, before turning to the next gift. He opened the small box, and pulled out the unobtrusive silver ring. It had a tiny piece of obsidian worked into the metal. His eyes narrowed as he held up the band, examining the inscription. 'Salvator servat id ex fractum.' "This is a Ring of Refugium," he commented in a toneless voice. "Harry, I cannot accept this." Harry held up a hand and gave the man a look. Severus was beginning to become familiar with that look—the way the jaw was set, the way the eyes glinted. That look held up a sign reading, 'Stubborn Git of a Gryffindor: Will Not Listen to Reason.' He sighed, and Harry's face softened. The boy was certainly sobering up. Why did he do such incredibly foolish things? Making out with Draco Malfoy, of all people, in the men's room. Severus shook his head, turning the ring around and around in his fingers. "But what if one does not believe in this 'Salvator,' this 'Savior,' hmm?"  
  
"That's all right," Harry told him in a hushed voice. He gently took the ring away from Severus and slipped it onto one of those long, slender fingers. "The Savior certainly believes in you."  
  
Severus was suddenly struck by how foolish they probably looked; Harry Potter, kneeling before the Death Eater, those expressive viridian eyes gazing up at him, as he slid a ring onto the man's finger. He had to force himself to breathe again. He glanced around the room, but they were mostly shielded by a potted plant, and no one seemed to be paying any attention. "Yes, well, be that as it may," he muttered, trying to sound cantankerous, and aware that he was failing. "These are, in fact, for you." He thrust a couple of items at the boy with such speed that Harry fumbled to catch them. Now he just had to concentrate on not seeing the boy's face when he opened them.  
  
Harry was taken aback. Severus was giving him Christmas presents? This had to be a different reality; this was too bizarre. He carefully undid the wrapping on the first one, and found a small wooden box. Inside, nestled on a cushion of velvet, rested the silver clasp of a cloak. Harry was speechless. He took it out, feeling it's very authentic weight resting in his palm; it was not a dream. "Severus," he finally murmured. "This was your grandfather's. Did you not want to pass it on to your children?"  
  
Severus snorted. "Harry. I am an elderly homosexual Death Eater-cum- spy. Just how many children do you think I am likely to have?"  
  
Harry reflected a moment. "You're not elderly. You're in the prime of your life."  
  
"Hmph. At any rate, you no longer have your watch. And now you've gone and given me your cloak. You do need some form of protection, you realize? And I...I don't believe I should accept the cloak. You'll need it at some point and. Well. Among other concerns, it is certainly not what your father would have wanted."  
  
Harry smiled a little. "Yeah. That's part of the reason I did it. It's not much, but it's a little vengeance, isn't it?" He bit his lip, looking hopeful, his eyes large and round, and Severus wondered that he simply didn't melt into a puddle at the boy's feet. "Besides, I'm NOT going to need it. Do you know why? Because I'm not going to get into any more trouble. I'm going to be careful from now on. I'll stay in the castle when you order it, and I'll stay away from Draco, and I'll do as I'm told. The cloak...it's sort of my way of promising that. Showing that. I can be obedient. I don't want you to worry about me. I don't want to be your burden."  
  
Severus's eyes widened at the words, but the boy gave no further indication that anything was meant by them. After a few moments, he gathered himself enough to croak, "Here is your other present." Harry reached eagerly for it, his sweetbriar lips turned up at the corners. Severus unconsciously licked his own. He shook his head a little, trying to clear it.  
  
Harry made short work of the outer paper on the smaller package. When those deft fingers finally revealed the gift, Severus was amused by the consternation on the boy's face. "Er. ONE cuff link?" Harry said, confused. "I mean, it's really exquisite craftsmanship and all, but don't you think most people usually need two? If they have two hands and two wrists, that is?" He looked up with his eyebrows raised.  
  
"Don't be stupid, Potter. I doubt you even own any shirts with French cuffs," he pointed out. "This was an heirloom on my mother's side. The other was lost perhaps a thousand years ago. The setting is 16 karat gold; very good for holding a charm, and the 'jewel' is Greek glass. It is enchanted with the spell Infectum Reddare. Can you tell me what that means?" He handed the bauble back to the boy, who examined the object more closely.  
  
The glass was green, and held a multihued patina on the surface. He turned it this way and that, letting it catch the light. Greek glass. Glass made for a vase or a bottle or cup or something thousands and thousands of years ago. "Infectum Reddare," he murmured. "I can't recall...it's not taught, but I read about it in a book of magical theory. I think. Infectum..." Harry closed his eyes, trying to beat the Latin into some sort of useful modern translation. "Um...something about undo, undone, return to the way it was...something like that."  
  
"Indeed. This cuff link holds just one very powerful spell. When you release it, you may...return a situation to its previous state. Whatever event you choose shall be undone. This is chosen at your discretion, which is why it is so powerful and so very dangerous. The only thing it cannot reverse is death itself. And, of course, there is a limit to how far back into the past one may reach. Please be careful with it. It is not a toy. Think hard before unleashing the spell. I would NOT have it wasted. Do you understand? There may come a time when nothing else will be able to aid you. There may come a time when I am not there. I intend this to take my place, should that day come. And for you to let the rest of the world rise or fall on its own. It is to be used for you, and you alone. And for Merlin's sake, do not lose it. It is without price."  
  
Harry nodded dumbly. He understood what Severus was saying—'Don't waste it on me. If and when the time comes, save yourself. Not me. Not the world. Save yourself.' Harry swallowed a couple of times around the lump in his throat. How could it be that Severus didn't love him, to give him such a gift? He looked up at the man, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and Severus immediately looked unnerved.  
  
"Oh, for God's sake, Potter, not this again. Why on earth are you so atrociously emotional? Stop that," he whispered, brushing knuckles tenderly across one cheek. "You're thoroughly impossible." He tilted his head, looking as though he might say something more, but was interrupted by a voice.  
  
"Harry? Has anyone seen Harry?" Harry heard Hermione calling, and quickly got his face back under control and came out from behind the plant. "Oh, there you are. And Professor Snape! You came; I'm so glad. Harry was so unhappy when he thought you wouldn't. Oh, good...Ron? Where did we put Professor Snape's gift?" Snape looked dubious when Ron handed him the square package. "That's from Ron and me," Hermione beamed at him. "Harry, Professor Lupin is here, too."  
  
Harry flashed Snape an apologetic smile and got to his feet. "Oh, Harry, there you are," Lupin waved to him. "And I see you've a new cloak! Let's see you in it, then," Harry grinned and pulled it over his shoulders, modeling for Remus, who let out a teasing wolf-whistle. "Very dapper. And how the green brings out your eyes. Who gave that to you?"  
  
Harry's smile faded a little. "Blaise," he said, shrugging a little.  
  
"Yes, well, you be sure to thank him for it. It's very nice..."  
  
"Here, Harry, this is from Jack and me," Seamus said, handing Harry a parcel. It was a Muggle book about fashion and just generally being gay, young, and trendy. "I had to stop Jack from getting you, 'The Top Twenty- Five White-Hot, Well-Muscled Magicians' calendar. I mean...where would you have put it? Ron would have had an aneurysm if he ever saw it."  
  
Harry laughed. "This is great. Really great. Thanks a lot, Seamus." He flipped through, looking at some of the tips. They really couldn't hurt. Maybe they would even help him catch Severus's eye. No. He couldn't do that anymore. He needed to keep Severus safe. He had to stay away from him—at least until Voldemort was defeated. He watched the man over his shoulder, feeling a smirk tugging at his lips. After that, he was going to consider the man fair game.  
  
"Oh, I am SO SORRY!" he heard someone yell, and turned to see Remus trying to mop an impossible amount of red punch from his gray turtleneck. Jack was standing next to him, holding the punch bowl and trying to look contrite. "You know what gets that out? Hey, Harry, bring that Muggle book over—it has it in there—here," he told the werewolf, "Take off your shirt." Everything happened really fast, and Remus was probably more than a little surprised to find himself at the center of the attention of the Christmas party, and moreover, shirtless. A few trickles of punch ran down the man's front, where it had penetrated the fabric. "Looks like it went straight through," Jack commented. "A little soap and water will take care of THAT." He ran a hand down Remus's chest, causing the werewolf to jump backwards at the touch. Unfortunately, he backed into Seamus, who used this God-given opportunity to dump his own cup of punch down Lupin's back. "Oh, look at that!" Jack exclaimed. "Pants too, what a shame!" He sounded positively delighted, and Remus's hand shot out with alacrity, batting Jack's away, as the boy brazenly grabbed at his fly. Harry shoved the Muggle book at Jack, hoping to diffuse the situation by distracting the Slytherin. Hermione was tsking loudly about Jack's antics. "SEE HERE?" Jack was saying loudly, talking over her and brandishing the book in front of Lupin. "Seltzer water. We can make seltzer water! No problem at all." Remus looked lost, as Jack began pulling him toward the rest room, the rest of the Reds following closely. Harry covered his smile with a hand when his godfather looked back at him imploringly. He wondered if the man had ANY idea.  
  
"Psst. Harry," one of the Black Birds was brandishing a paper in front of him. "We can't let the Reds outdo us that way. See if you can't get 'him' to say this out loud. Or we LOSE, Harry," the Slytherin said. "And we all know you're the one with Gryffindor courage."  
  
"Yes," another boy chimed in, "and we all know you drive him crazy, so you're the most likely to be able to get him to do something rash. And if you don't do it, we'll call you, 'Harry the Homo Chicken' for the rest of the year."  
  
"Right." Harry rolled his eyes, taking the paper. He read it three times, and still couldn't believe the...nerve of the Black Birds. Like that would happen. He wished it would, but...Lupin was coming out of the bathroom, looking a bit leery. Harry glanced back at Severus, who was sitting with his legs stretched out; flipping idly through the book Hermione had gotten him. "What do I get if I manage it?"  
  
"Anything you want," one of the boys replied. "Although none of us really believes you'll be able to get him to say it."  
  
"Nah..." Harry replied, shaking his head slowly. "I honestly don't see him ever saying this." He handed it back to the boy, who looked disappointed.  
  
"What have you got, there?" Jack asked, joining the group, his smile wide. Dear God, he actually STRUTTED over to them. His ego would NEVER be deflated after this. "Trying to prank Snape now, are we?" He studied the paper for a long moment, hazel eyes calculating. "I bet I could get him to say this."  
  
"Go for it," one of the other boys replied. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Jack had already enchanted the paper, folding it into a private note and sending it floating Snape's way. The boys followed.  
  
It landed in the man's lap, and Severus's head jerked up. "Looks like someone's throwing you notes," Jack remarked easily. "Go on, open it," he urged. "What's it say?" Severus glanced at them, suspicious, and Harry fought madly to hold back the blush. Oh, if Severus really said it...Harry could feel his whole body tingling with anticipation. He would never actually read it out loud.

With a sigh, the man unfolded the paper and held it up. "I want to fuck you like an animal...I want to feel you from the inside—"

Seamus choked on his drink, spraying punch all over the floor. "Seamus!" Harry reprimanded. "Was that still my round? You damn well better not be spitting my round on the floor, or I'll make you lick it back up! I'm sorry, what was that, Professor Snape?" He turned back to the man, looking innocent.

"Just some...just. Nonsense. Pornographic nonsense," he muttered, making to crumple it.

"Was it? I didn't hear. Was it really? What did it say?" Harry pressed, his face carefully molded to seem candid and guileless.

Severus was frowning, and let out a great sigh as he repeated, "I want to fuck you like an animal...Yes, yes, very clever. All right," he said, holding the paper high between two fingers. "Who wrote this?"

"I believe it's a Muggle song," Remus told him with a crooked smile. "Severus, do you get the feeling we've been had?" He looked pointedly at the group of boys, one of whom had actually fainted. The rest of them were chattering and giggling in nervous excitement. Harry was flushed to the roots of his hair, unable to hold back an embarrassed grin.

"I see," Snape said in a dry voice, looking at Harry. Harry was sure the man had to be furious, but instead of anger, his eyes flashed with something like suppressed amusement. "I suppose I should count myself lucky to remain fully clothed." 

"That's terrible," gasped Hermione, who—up until that moment—had been giggling. Ron was doubled over, face in hands; pretending nothing was happening at all. "Who did it?"

"That would be me," Jack replied, looking very smug. "On both counts," he added. Some of the boys clapped, and he bowed deeply. "Yes, yes, of course I deserve it. And, by the way, Seamus; that would make me...?"

"King," Seamus laughed, still coughing a little. "King of us all! Hey boys, how many 'we're not worthies' d'you think that garners? Nine? Nine and a half?"

"How does one give nine and a half 'we're not worthies?'" Harry wondered aloud.

"Like this; all right boys?" Seamus and the others immediately knelt down and began kowtowing to Jack with arms outstretched. "We're not worthy," they chanted à la Wayne and Garth. "We're not worthy..." after the ninth repetition, they continued, "We're not—"and cut off in the middle. Harry rolled his eyes.

"And a couple of extra 'we're not worthies' for Harry," Jack added, "for being sly enough to GET HIM TO SAY IT AGAIN!" Harry had to turn away from Severus and duck, shielding his face with his hand. In part he was embarrassed by how hot his face was—but he'd have liked to avoid the man's eyes, in any case. He gave a quick bow in response to his own accolades, and reflected that he enjoyed being praised for this sort of thing FAR more than he did for fighting Voldemort. The memory of Severus's honeyed voice was going to keep him awake for WEEKS. Oh, yes. Fighting Voldemort never had payoffs like THAT.

(So there you have it. This turned out to be just a fun, fluffy type of chapter, which will gear us up for the slightly hotter and heavier action next chapter (hopefully.) Hope you don't mind the lack of seriousness this time around. And maybe if you give me good reviews and send me a few 'We're not worthies,' I'll have mercy on you and let Sev snog Harry senseless next chapter. Sound like a deal? Wishing you kittens and whiskey! StarryGazer)


	30. Everybody Wants You For Different Reason...

(Yea! Here's the next chapter, I just know you're going to like it! There is an almost non-existent reference to Spider Robinson's 'Callahan' stories in here. But that's what I was thinking of when I slipped it in. Do let me know if any of you've read them; they're pretty cute. ShadowPhoenix, you especially should pick it up—we could meet at Callahan's sometime, if it existed. I would love to go there. Eh, maybe in the next life we'll both find it, right?  
  
My goodness, you were a busy bunch of reviewers, weren't you? This pleases me. Therefore, I reward you with what I assure you is the most exciting chapter, ever! In the history of the universe! Yeah. Ahem.  
  
Much thanks: Riley Cat, Chantelli, (here is something to tide you over) The- Magnificent-Fuzzy, Doneril, Adele Sparks of course, (I think Jack and Seamus are considering duel membership now, can you tell me who the old president was, btw?) Pink-Crane (I couldn't have that in dollar bills instead, could I? ;)), odessaspacey1, KittyWillow (They do as I say, so I think they'd let you join. I'm thinking of making buttons or insignias or something for both groups, whaddya think? My Remus is NOT David Thewlis, btw. He is more Ralph Fiennes, or even that guy I saw on the Harley the other day. Yum.) Kudama, FireFaerie23, (If it gets a review, I feel particularly smug about the chapter) Lady Darkness13, Karuri, Agar (the pants line I thought of and threw in LAST MINUTE, because it made me giggle. Pants too, what a shame! ; ) ) Iaurhirwen (You got it, baby), Awen, tinkita, Mercury Sands (slipped him in, just for you), Nemo Returning, and the indubitable Igraine Black!  
  
Ta DAH! (Whips off sheet covering latest masterpiece) Enjoy! StarryGazer)  
  
Chapter 33: Everybody Wants You...For Different Reasons, Of Course  
  
A week later, Harry had read the book Seamus and Jack had given him from cover to cover, and thought he was about ready to put his new knowledge to use. He dragged Hagrid to Hogsmead, where he tried on something like a thousand things in Glad Rags, accessorizing with a number of items he'd had Lupin obtain in London, and then proceeded to model some outfits for the half-giant.  
  
"Er...tha's very nice, Harry," Hagrid told him politely. He blinked sleepily, just having been woken by the young wizard. This wasn't really Hagrid's interest, but he wanted to be there to protect Harry. Of course, once Harry disappeared into the dressing rooms, Hagrid had dropped into a seat and promptly dozed off. "But...er...why've yeh got that there? It don' look righ', that." He nodded to the green and silver necktie that Harry'd wound through his belt loops.  
  
Harry stifled a sigh. Hagrid was utterly straight, more than a little bored by the idea of fashion as a whole, and completely hopeless at recognizing a chic craze, even if it bit him like one of his monsters. "It's for that, 'Hey, I got up so late and had to do everything so fast this morning that I put clothing on the wrong body parts' look," Harry intoned dryly. "You don't want to know where the underwear goes." Hagrid turned an interesting shade of ruby and looked horrified before Harry had pity on him. "That was a joke," he explained. Hagrid tried to chuckle. "It's just a fad, Hagrid. It comes and goes. I like the way it looks, that's all." He began gathering his belongings. "Hey..." he said in alarm. "Where's my new cloak?"  
  
"Wha's that?" Hagrid helped him look, picking up clothing and looking under chairs. "I dunno, Harry. Could swear it was 'ere jus' a moment ago."  
  
Harry, who'd been bending down, looking under the racks, stood up, scratching his head and frowning. "How long were you asleep, anyw...?" he trailed off, looking out the front window. In front of the store stood a dark-haired youth, showing off Harry's new cloak to a group of teenaged admirers. "Hey!" he angrily exclaimed. "That kid's got my cloak!" He ran to the front of the shop, Hagrid following determinedly. "Hey, you!" Harry yelled as he threw the front door open. "That's mine, dammit! You give it back!" The boy and his friends ran, Harry's new garment flapping behind the culprit. They made a hard right, and headed into an alley. Harry gave pursuit, but Hagrid quickly caught up and grabbed hold of him.  
  
"Harry!" he grabbed hold of the boy, who struggled a moment to get free, before stopping and gazing up at the man in wordless accusation. "I'm sorry, Harry. Blimey, I'm so sorry! I should've been keepin' a better eye on it. But yeh shouldn' go runnin' after strange boys inter alleys...not with, not with You-Know-Who about, causin' trouble. We dunno who that was, do we? Could've been one o' his followers," he explained reasonably.  
  
Harry nodded, defeated. "I guess I'll have to buy myself another...I can use Snape's old one for now. Hagrid, could you do me a favor and not mention to anyone that I lost it? At least—not right away. I don't want Blaise getting angry with me for being careless with it. We're kind of on...shaky ground, right now. If we really do call it off for good, I want it to be over something more substantial than a cloak. I know it's kind of...fifties sitcom-ish, but maybe I can find one like it and replace it or something."  
  
"All righ', Harry," Hagrid agreed easily, nodding his shaggy head. "Can't say I'm too excited abou' the idea of tellin' anyone that I went and fell asleep when I was supposed ter be watchin' yeh, anyhow. But...really, Harry...yeh don' think mebbe it's time ter give up the ghost, like, with Blaise? I mean, I know yeh like 'im an' all, but...the little monster's been buggered by the whole Slytherin house, and lots o' boys in the other houses, too." He quailed under Harry's furious stare. "All righ', all righ'; I'm not tryin' ter get yeh mad at me...Jus' don' know why yeh've got to pick a boy that's got such a good shot at bein' in league with You-Know- Who, tha's all. Be careful, Harry...Blimey, those Slytherins...yeh've just got to watch out for 'em...Dunno why yeh've always got ter be hangin' around with Slytherins..." he muttered to himself, shaking his head, beard waggling in dismay.  
  
"I will be careful," Harry responded, as Hagrid picked up their purchases and then steered him back towards Hogwarts. Harry slowly felt a self-mocking smile cross his face. "I do seem to have a thing for those Slytherins, don't I?"  
  
It was only a matter of time. It wasn't his first kiss; it was only his most important. He could make out with Malfoy in bathrooms, he could make out with Blaise practically everywhere, but it was Severus's lips that clung to his soul and stayed on his mind. He'd practiced not thinking about it and—in his opinion—he'd really made a lot of progress. He was bloody good at the whole visualization thing, and he'd made an extra effort at it, mostly because he never, ever wanted to compromise Severus's safety. But it was kind of a milestone in his life; an event so important that it was impossible not to dwell on it occasionally, and therefore always near the forefront of his mind. So it was bound to happen. He was just lucky it wasn't Voldemort who got a glimpse of it.  
  
Ron had tracked mud from the Quidditch field into the room; he was forced to clean up his mess, and his lines were quickly changed to, "I WAS NOT BORN IN A BARN." Harry had found it amusing; perhaps that was to blame for his inability to concentrate. The moment his mind wasn't completely on Occlumency, it slipped right into contemplating that forbidden subject.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" was Snape's instantly released rant. "Do you want to get us both KILLED? You have no bloody IDEA what you're DOING, do you?" Snape appeared so completely riled that Harry took a step backwards.  
  
"I'm sorry," he responded hoarsely. "I didn't mean for it to happen." He glanced at Hermione's lines, which read, "I WON'T MAKE THE PROFESSOR COME UP HERE AND DO SOMETHING HE'LL DO SOMETHING HE'LL REGRET." She REALLY had to stop getting caught in the Astronomy Tower. Harry took a deep breath. "I don't think it would have happened if it was anybody other than you," he told the man with perfect honesty. It was true, after all; if anyone else had been sifting through his mind, he wouldn't have been looking into those dazzling dark eyes, trying not to remember things better left forgotten.  
  
"Get to your lines," Severus snapped bitterly. He could NOT get the boy to take this seriously. And what the FUCK was wrong with him, falling for someone so stupid that he did not even grasp the implications of the situation? He felt the rage and despair mushrooming out, tumultuous in his heart. He might as well give UP. They were both fucking DEAD. How could they not be, when the little, little—pain in the arse couldn't even keep it together to keep the memory from HIM? HE was being gentle! If Harry got taken by Voldemort—!  
  
Harry bit his lip, then turned to the wall. He had to keep this all together, for Severus's sake, if not his own. He had to maintain control. Which did not mean he had to like it. The stress was really beginning to wear on him. He'd been throwing up blood for almost a week now, and nothing Madam Pomfrey recommended did any good. He felt the acid begin to churn in his stomach as he did his lines, trying to ignore how Severus was still raging frantically in the background.  
  
He was at the Astronomy Tower, alone, when Dumbledore found him. Harry was bent over the wall, leaned very far down, and a gentle hand grasped the back of his cloak—Severus's cloak—and pulled him back. He tried to wipe the tears from his cheeks as the man stared at him, seeming to see into his very soul.  
  
"What are you doing, Harry?" the Headmaster asked him softly.  
  
Harry looked down, over the wall again. "Eighth stone down," he whispered. "I can only just reach it with my fingertips. Sometimes, when it's all just too much, I like to come up here and brush my fingers against it. Because nobody else does. It's like something that's all mine; something that no one else has probably ever bothered to touch since Hogwarts was built." He sat against the wall, head sagging forward. "Sometimes it's all just too hard," he said hoarsely, "and I wonder what it would be like to go over the edge. Just give it all up—the fame, the helplessness, the responsibility, everything. And I'd touch it as I went past. Press my whole hand against it, just once."  
  
"Harry..."  
  
"I won't do it. I promise. Not ever. Because you all need me. So I won't—just for you. For all of you. But sometimes I like to think about it. Because I can control THAT, at least." He wiped his eyes again and shakily got to his feet.  
  
"My dear boy, you have far more power than you think." Dumbledore arched a brow.  
  
Harry snorted. "Yeah, I could probably flatten the Forbidden Forest with magic. Like it'd do me any good."  
  
"Or you can capture what was once considered an untouchable heart," the old man countered. He gave Harry a rather grim smile. "It is hard, so very hard for some people to fall in love, Harry. It makes them vulnerable, and so they fight it. Of course, they do not realize that they are already conquered, but the intelligent ones always eventually come to grips with it. It just takes time and patience. A large helping of Gryffindor strong will and stubbornness would not go amiss, either. It is, after all, rather like bashing one's head against a stone wall. And hurts just as badly, I've no doubt. Just keep in mind that when assaulting the walls built around a certain suspicious Potion Master's heart, one might just have to dig in for the long siege. I assure you, you're already in. One simply must both give and take the time it shall take for everyone to accept it."  
  
Harry stared at the man, his face red and his jaw slack, but before he could form a question or even a coherent thought, there was a loud, echoing boom some distance from the castle, and the night sky turned red for a moment.  
  
"Now, Harry, if this particular subject is completely handled, I suggest we move on to something perhaps a bit more pressing." He helped the boy to his feet, saying, "Follow me, Mister Potter." Harry trailed behind the Headmaster into the Castle. Dumbledore led him toward his office, to the gargoyle, who must have been told what to expect, because it jumped aside without even asking for the password, and they headed straight up.  
  
When they reached the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore turned to Harry with a grave look on his face. "Harry, I musk you to perform a spell with me. We do not have time for questions or explanations. Will you do this?" Harry nodded dumbly, his mouth dry. "Good. You will have little to do. I need only borrow your magic and your image for a few moments." He took Harry by the wrist, and led him over to one of the largest, lowest paintings of a former Headmaster, saying, "Sigbuld, if you would be so kind?" The painting of the man with rather wild hair inclined his head, and swung out, revealing a doorway behind him. Harry followed Dumbledore through this portal and found himself outside, on a wide stone balcony. Dumbledore's tower was very high; Harry didn't think he'd ever been anywhere in the castle with this lofty a view before. The sun was just beginning to give an impression of not-pitch-blackness on the eastern horizon. Morning was approaching.  
  
Just as Harry thought this, another sort of fireball rose in the distance, it's booming sound following a few moments behind. Harry shuddered. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but there seemed to be screaming coming from somewhere far off. "Now, Harry; I do not want you to say a single word. When I next speak directly to you, just nod and try to appear as though you are concentrating. That is absolutely everything you will need to do. When you return to yourself, you will once again find yourself here, and I will be gone. Do not come after me. Go into my office and stay there until I return. Close the portal behind you. Do not open my door for anyone, or attempt to contact anyone. Do not answer if anyone calls out your name." Harry was mystified by this, but nodded uncertainly. Dumbledore took Harry's hand, gripping it tightly, and then tapped Harry on the head with his wand, saying, 'Visio!' He pointed his wand toward the explosions, and said something else, and suddenly Harry was spiraling away, feet still firmly planted on stone, but his head somewhere else entirely.  
  
With a snap, the spiraling stopped and he looked around. He was in an alley. There were people running past the mouth of the alley, scrambling and shouting and looking terrified. Then there was another explosion, and this time it was extremely perturbing, because he was seeing it both rising into the sky over his head 'while at the same time' watching it mushroom up on the distant horizon. For a few moments he suffered an acute vertigo, as he tried to mesh the two perspectives into one body, but then gave up.  
  
He heard a sound behind him—an angry hiss—and whirled to see a masked Death Eater approaching him from behind. From as much as an expressionless mask can give some hint at emotion, this one was radiating fury and madness. "I've got you now," it snarled. Harry could see out of the alley behind the man, and the shops lining the streets. He was in Hogsmead, wasn't he? Hogsmead was under attack?  
  
Then the man was raising his wand, and Harry heard Dumbledore's magnified voice cry out, "Now, Harry! To the hideout in the far south! Apparate NOW!" Harry was confused—they hadn't discussed apparating at all. And what the hell was going on?  
  
"Severus! Severus!" A voice crackled and fizzed its way out of the mirror sitting on his bedside table. Dimly, the spy was impressed. The device was meant only to let him contact the other wizard, never be an open link for him to be contacted. Muzzily, he sat up in bed and picked up the mirror.  
  
"What is it, Lupin?" he asked, his voice thick, rich and deep with sleep. Blinking a few times, he realized the man looked panicked.  
  
"Find Harry!" the werewolf commanded.  
  
Severus felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his shoulders. He was completely awake now. "What? What's going on?"  
  
The connection via the mirror spell was shaky, and Lupin's face faded, then returned, then stretched and twisted before reverting to its correct dimensions. "—attack—Hogsmead—don't know—Minerva McGonagall in charge; she told me to tell you you're not to leave the castle," he finished, coming mostly back into focus.  
  
"What?" Severus growled. "Hogsmead? The mark hasn't flared at all! Why wasn't I informed?"  
  
"—don't know. Could be rogue Death Eaters, from what we can tell. I think they were trying to sneak past, making their way to Hogwarts. They were trying to make it through the wards, but Shacklebolt's Fire Web caught one out, so they just went crazy and started attacking. Mundugus's dead. It's bloody bedlam out here."  
  
"Shit!" Snape spat grabbing his robe up and heading for the door. "I'll do a round here, and then contact you, agreed?" He saw Lupin nod, and the man snapped out of sight. Hogsmead under attack. Probably after Harry. Bloody, buggering hell.  
  
He took the steps to Gryffindor Tower three at a time, letting his long legs eat up the distance. "Emergency password override," he panted at the fat lady, who looked startled, but quickly allowed him access. When he got to the boys' dormitory, he said "Lumos!" Four bleary-eyed boys sat up in surprise. The explosions outside had not yet begun to be loud enough to wake Hogwarts. Severus threw back the curtains on the empty bed. "Where the HELL is POTTER?" he demanded of Ron Weasley, looking murderous.  
  
"Don't you bloody well get mad at ME about that; that's your fault, it is!" he squawked indignantly. Severus managed an inarticulate snarl, and Ron gulped. "He was upset over how angry you were with him, and said he needed to clear his head after cl—after detention. Said he was going to take a walk. Don't know where he went."  
  
"He—he's been gone since THEN?" Severus replied. That was HOURS ago. If the boy was WALKING, he could have gone all the way to Hogsmead by n—Oh. SHIT. Whirling, he made for the door.  
  
"Professor, what's—?"  
  
Snape cut the boy off. "Shut up and lock yourselves in. If anyone apart from Professor McGonagall or myself comes to your door, you'd best be prepared to defend yourselves. Hogsmead is under attack. DO NOT leave this room. I will be patrolling outside, and I cannot chance killing any of you—and that will be my instinct, and my instinct will not be curbed tonight."  
  
"What about Harry?" he heard Ron call anxiously.  
  
"I will take care of Potter," he growled.  
  
When he was far enough from Gryffindor Tower—well, as soon as he'd left Gryffindor Tower, really, he had no patience tonight—he yanked the mirror out of his pocket and contacted Lupin.  
  
"It's utter chaos," the werewolf immediately began complaining bitterly. "They've gone MAD, they're just killing anyone that gets in front of them, now. There are bodies strewn all over—"  
  
"Lupin. Pay attention." The man's head snapped up, golden eyes focusing. "Harry is missing. He's not in his bed; he said he was going for a walk. This was HOURS ago. For all I know, he is in your vicinity. I will scour the castle, but I need you to look for him as well."  
  
Remus covered his tired face with his hands for a moment. "Mother of God, I hope he's not lost down here in all of this right now. I'll look. Call me if you find anything, and I'll do the same." Snape nodded curtly.  
  
"Unless we discover something or there is an emergency, I will check in with you in one hour," Snape told him, and began the search.  
  
He checked the Astronomy Tower, his own dungeons, McGonagall's room, even woke the Zabini brat to ask if he'd seen the boy. Blaise looked like he might pass out at the information. He had not seen Harry all week, really, he insisted. "Where's Malfoy?" Snape asked as an afterthought. They'd made out a little over a week ago; perhaps he'd taken Harry to bed. He'd kill them both, of course, but only if they were THERE to be killed.  
  
"He hasn't returned from Christmas vacation, remember?" Blaise asked him gently, causing the man to scowl. He wasn't some old coot, damn it, who tottered about forgetting things and needing adult diapers. It was only that a snippet of previously unimportant information had slipped his mind. Draco was skiing in Vermont, on a long Holiday, since he'd missed the beginning of the Christmas break by attending Potter's party. This meant that he was with Lucius, and not Harry, so he was of no further interest.  
  
"You're in charge of Slytherin," Snape announced, being singularly cruel to the boy. "I have to patrol the castle. No one is to leave the Slytherin rooms. I'm sure you can keep them in line," he added sweetly, smiling at the boy's white, terrified face.  
  
He went and looked for Dumbledore, but the gargoyle said, "No entry in his absence," which was a key phrase to let the Order know he was already out dealing with whatever was happening. He supposed he should let Lupin know; if the man came across him, he must straight away inform the Headmaster the boy was missing.  
  
He heard the mirror crackle to life, and worriedly held it up. He was supposed to contact Lupin about now, not the other way around. "Severus," the voice was choked. "Oh, my God, Severus." He felt himself go white, and quickly found an empty classroom with a chair to collapse into. He had never heard Remus's voice like that—so frightened, so sick, so—grieving, shaking, upset. 'Not that,' he prayed. 'Anything but that.' "You saw the cloak Zabini gave him for Christmas?" Snape nodded mutely into the looking glass. "I think. Oh, my God," Lupin said, his voice cracking, "Severus, I think I found Harry." He turned the mirror, and in the golden light of the sunrise, Severus could make out the shadowy form of a boy fallen in the middle of the street.  
  
He was flat on his stomach, and a shimmery green cloak covered everything but one arm, flung wide, and his dark head, and the large pool of blood that had spread from it. God, it couldn't be. It just couldn't be. Severus thought he was going to be sick. It couldn't be. He had the cuff link for situations like this. But if it happened too fast—Oh. God. Severus slammed the mirror down, breaking his link to Lupin. Then he slammed it again, and again, until the glass had shattered onto the desk in front of him. He sat, shaking, for a moment. Then he used the frame to beat the shards to a fine dust. Finally, he dropped his head into his arms, and fell into dry sobs.  
  
Harry, meanwhile, was recollecting himself enough to give the briefest nod, and suddenly he found himself back on the balcony. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. There were a couple of further explosions in the distance, but then it got eerily quiet. He was supposed to be inside. Stifling a sigh, he went back through the portal, and contented himself with pacing and chatting with the paintings as he awaited the old man's return.  
  
They wouldn't tell him anything, of course, so out of nervous frustration, he found himself chatting with them about silly, pointless things. "Well, yes. The double-back IS a very good Quidditch move," he told Headmaster Herbitus, who had been around in the Victorian ages. He had a very fine set of whiskers. "No, I've never really owned a pet—well, except for Junior," he added to one of the witches. "He's my snake, but really, I don't OWN him; he's just my friend. My family never had pets, and never would have let me own one, Headmistress Alfreda." He found it challenging keeping so many conversations going at once, and suspected they were just trying to keep him distracted, but he was grateful. Their kind dialogue was probably the only reason he hadn't gone completely mad in the last hour. Had it only been an hour!?  
  
Finally, the door opened, and Dumbledore came in. As Harry leapt to his feet, the Headmaster raised a hand. "This will be discussed at a later time. I still have a few imperative issues to take care of. If you would be so kind, would you find Professor Snape and ask him to wait in his office for me? Tell him I will be with him...when I can. I cannot spare the time to speak with him right away, I'm afraid."  
  
Harry chewed his lips, dying to know what was going on. Self-restraint. He had to learn it sometime. And he understood that Dumbledore was kind of offering him a consolation prize, by sending him to Snape. It would be more of a consolation if the man weren't so cold and irate with him. Oh, well. "Yes, sir," he mumbled glumly.  
  
The Headmaster looked tired, but Harry could swear he saw the man's eyes twinkle particularly brightly as he nodded goodbye to the boy.  
  
Harry approached the door to Snape's rooms with caution. Loud crashes were emanating from behind it, as well as explosive swearing, and it was making Harry nervous. It was Severus's voice though, he knew that for certain. Why was the man so upset? And was he THROWING things in there? It did, it sounded like he was THROWING things! Breaking things, even. What the hell? Harry cringed when he heard the thwack of what he was sure was a book being lobbed across the room. He knocked softly, not loudly enough to be heard over the racket, and tried the knob. Unlocked. Perhaps he ought to peek in and determine what he was dealing with before making his presence known.  
  
He made his way to the study; where he saw Severus gulp down an impossible amount of brandy, then hurl the empty glass into the fireplace, where it shattered. Amidst the tinkling of settling glass, the flames fed on the alcohol, roaring merrily higher. Harry was frozen to the spot for a long moment. "Prof—Professor?" he eventually managed to get out in a voice hardly above a whisper.  
  
The man spun to face Harry, absolutely shocked. The boy watched an amazing succession of emotions march rapidly across the man's face; first disbelief, then consternation, then several that were far too complicated for Harry to read, then a strange rawness that the Potion's Master fought to suppress, and finally up came that ever-present anger.  
  
"Where the fuck have you BEEN, you reckless little imbecile? Do you have any bloody idea what kind of uproar you've thrown the school into? Lupin has been absolutely INSANE with anxiety—thought you were DEAD, and you've just been—been—traipsing about gathering flowers or—more likely—you'd probably gone LOOKING for trouble! No one knew where you were—no doubt your masochistic 'friends'—those idiots that actually CARE about you—have been worrying themselves sick over you. You sat there and PROMISED me that you wouldn't pull this kind of immature BULLSHIT anymore, and then THIS! Do you have any idea how FURIOUS I am with you right now? I am ready to WASH MY HANDS of you! Do you understand me, you inconsiderate little prick? How the hell could you DO THIS?" Snape's chest was heaving, his body trembling, and Harry felt himself grow cold.  
  
Why did Severus always imagine the worst of him? "As a matter of fact, the Headmaster knew exactly where I was, as he'd led me to the place and instructed me to stay there. Which I did—and did NOT, in fact, go 'looking for trouble,' as you so quickly assumed. I did not realize nor can I help the fact that Albus did not inform you of my whereabouts. Now, if you'll excuse me, since I am NOT an inconsiderate prick, I think I ought to reassure my 'friends'—yes, those IDIOTS that actually CARE about me—that I am still whole and unharmed." Harry lifted his chin augustly, and turned to walk from the room.  
  
Severus felt anger and relief and primitive, unrefined NEED simmering up inside. If Harry had only shown the immaturity Severus was used to, he was certain he would have been able to handle it. But no, the boy had to go and STAND UP for himself, and be REASONABLE and INTELLIGENT in the process. And act as though he had control of the situation—which drove Severus to respond the way he did probably more than anything else.  
  
Harry was incensed, but he would not give Severus the satisfaction of rising to the man's insults. He would be the bigger man and walk away. And if Severus wanted to know anything about Dumbledore, he'd have to ask someone else. Harry walked with calm, measured strides to the door, feeling grim satisfaction. He'd won that round, he was sure of it. That was it for the night, he was sure, so he was more than a little shocked when he felt Severus's hand clamp down on his arm, and spin him around to face the man.  
  
"You IMPUDENT little—"Severus shoved him against the wall, capturing Harry's mouth with his own. Harry's instinct was to gasp, which only succeeded in opening his mouth—which was urgently invaded by the Potions Master's tongue. He was dimly aware of the man's leg snaking its way between his own. Harry moaned deep in his throat, one hand on the man's chest, the other digging nails greedily into his shoulder.  
  
One of Severus's arms was wrapped around his waist, and the other hand—which had been gripping Harry's shoulder, slid up and tangled itself in the boy's hair. Harry's hand twisted into the fabric of the robe covering Severus's chest, trying to pull the man closer, closer, aware that he could never be close enough. He felt Severus's hand slip back down to his neck, where the fingers twined and tickled the hairs at the nape. He was just capable of whimpering, and let his arm go from the man's chest to circle his waist, reach up his back, touch, touch, oh! Hands on warm robes, robes on the warm back. Glorious, sensitive skin!  
  
For Severus, the feeling was just as extraordinary. Sweet lips, wet, silken tongue...Hair as soft as feathers...firm, confident hands sliding up and down his back...it was all heady, and immoral, and absolutely, exquisitely perfect—beautiful, even. Harry's sweet whimpers were better to his ears than Mozart played by the most skilled symphony. God, he could have lost the chance to do this—lost it forever.  
  
Harry could feel the man's hungry hands, one holding him as tightly against the Potions Master's body as it could, the other turning its attention to his face. It was cupping his chin, then trailing knuckles lightly up and down his jaw line, then flipping over to skim Harry's cheek with his palm, and finally running fingertips all over Harry's face; trembling as they brushed along his brow, drew a line down to the tip of his nose, even swept across his eyelids and kissed his eyelashes. Harry even felt the elusive touch tracing the terrible scar on his head, which felt so sensitized that Harry trembled and was forced to sigh through his nose. 'Dear God,' Harry marveled. How could he have known his SCAR, of all things, was an erogenous zone?  
  
In the back of his mind, he thanked God Blaise had taught him how to kiss, really kiss, and breathe through his nose at the same time, or he might have run out of air and died by now. Which still would have been preferable to breaking contact with Severus's mouth. He moaned softly, trying to convey the delirious rapture he was feeling, and he felt the man smile against his lips, fingers still running over his skin. To Harry, it felt as though Severus seemed to want nothing so much as to memorize every plane and curve of Harry's face.  
  
Harry had no idea how long it went on—it was a lifetime, and still far, far too short a moment, when they heard a knock at the door, and Harry thought, 'No, no, no,' so desperately that he was still thinking it—still half forming the words with Snape's tongue in his mouth, still moaning it when the man broke away. "Nooo, nooo, nooo-ooooh...oh...I know, I know," he straightened up as Severus gave him a pointed look which said, 'Immature behaviour. Don't make me regret what I just did, hmm?'  
  
The man blinked, looking as though he were landing, having descended from some high cloud. "Harry...this can't happen again. There are consequences, risks—"  
  
"I know," Harry cut him off in a hoarse voice, looking so pink and unkempt and simply so thoroughly kissed that it was all Severus could do to stare, instead of hauling the boy off to his bed. Only a few rooms away. God. "Responsibilities," Harry continued, jerking the man back to reality. Could the boy possibly be starting to UNDERSTAND? It was a bloody miracle, praise be to God, or Allah, or whoever up there had a hand in this. Harry saw the eyebrow begin its ascent, and couldn't contain a smile in response.  
  
Suddenly, the man was looking over Harry's shoulder, his eyes wide. "Albus...I..." Harry whirled to see Dumbledore against the doorframe, where he was leaning far more casually than Harry'd seen the man lean before. He'd apparently been there for some time.  
  
Severus glanced down at Potter, whose ingenuousness was no refutation of his (and likely Severus's) overly pink mouth, tousled hair, and flushed face. Severus realized his own robes had been rumpled and twisted by the boy's roaming hands, and made to straighten them. How the hell were they going to get out of this?  
  
(Trying this for about the 15th time...I'd like to get the fucking formatting right...If you like, you must review, that I find Zen satisfaction in my little lotus blossom. 'The moon is high, but the fic is not yet done,' says Confucious. Sigh...I did this because you reviewed my last chap. so nicely, you know. It is past midnight, here, and I have worked on this dern thing since I got home at six! So review the hell out of this one, I say! Whiskey and Kittens with Whiskers! StarryGazer) 


	31. Meddling, Matchmaking Headmaster

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Thanks to: Doneril (ah ha, aren't you clever), SofiaDragon (oh, thank you! I hope it works!), Unknown56, Hannah (aw, I'm so glad you're on board), Kudama (quite the compliment!), crzymagic8ball (alas, I shall not top that chapter until the climax! But the rest are good too, hopefully!), Nerfi- Tiri (such praise! I haven't blushed this much since ShadowPhoenix dedicated the end of Fine Lines to me!), Agar (I'm so glad it was worth it, I'd worried that everyone was getting bored!), Jackie, Mercury Sands (Do you know, that is exactly the response I was going for? ; ) ), Awen, milgarion, (a beer, huh? I may have to take you up on that! Although you probably won't feel it's quite worth it again till near the end!), onthesidelines (the more you review the better! I luuuuuuv reviews. I like to soak my toes in them at night. ; ) ), Fragmented-Soul (Great name, btw, I'm glad you felt it was worth it), fantasy's afterdark (you're very welcome!), Paula, Menecarkawan (I think I finally fixed it...it took me like twelve tries, the first time round I gave up in despair), Adele Sparks (VERY GOOD, M'DEAR! And thou shall have a Scooby Snack. I wasn't sure if ANYBODY realized what was going on there. I didn't want to bash anyone over the head with it, but I'm still not sure anyone fully gets it—how that ties into motivation and all. Ah, well. Such is life.), The Spaz (it's odd, I never saw it as a cliffie at all, but apparently everyone disagrees!), Dpeterson (Well, you certainly made me feel special! Much appreciation for that!), Anomy Mouse (Ah, come on, how was that cruel? They got a little action, didn't they?), SlytherinRomantic (yes, definitely the Van Gogh—or better yet, the Rassouli—of Starry's works, eh?), Princess Nekita (he HAD warned Harry he needed to talk to Snape! : ) ), KittyWillow (He realizes something. Can you guess?), odessaspacey1 (this one is all Sev. and Albus. I love Sev, too, insecure, snarky, sexy thing that he is!), AmericanWitch (Well, I wish all wishes were that easy to fulfill!), toamanda, Iaurhirwen (but who explains what to who?), Lady Darkness13, Slytherinkid07 (Do you know, I think that was one of the most gratifying reviews I've ever received?), chocy two (I went as fast as I could, considering the thing with the wrist is back...), ataraxis, mscs3, Mikee, tinkita, my beloved Shadowphoenix as always, Miki23, saridout (Nah, FF just kept screwing up the formatting. I think it's okay now, tho), c[R]ud[E]dly, Karuri, Igraine Black, the delightful Dominic.R, and Apologies to dablksaiyangurl (sorry about the revelation in this one, plot and all! Don't hate me, please!), and Pure Black, about this chap.)  
  
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Now, onto other things. I'm tired. I cannot think of other things. I need sleeeeeeep. But. I have been meaning to ask you all if anyone knows a good Beta. I would like to get this unwieldy colossus Beta'd and repost after all is said and done. I do actually notice a lot of mistakes myself, it's just that FF.net is so fickle I'm afraid when I try to repost, I'll lose my formatting. But at any rate, I'd like someone who could read for cohesiveness as well as grammar and spelling, so keep an ear out! Eye out! Thumb out, whatever. This was my first fic, so I have never done things like searching for a Beta before. Now, this is a shorty, but once again, I wanted to give you something. Because I just love you all so very, very much! And, while it's not snogging, hopefully it is at least amusing. I never had any urge to do much with Dumbledore before, but I realized not much could really happen without his blessing, so I started playing with him. He, in turn, began playing with Harry and Sev. Oh, dear, I think I've created a monster! ; ) Starry)  
  
Chapter 34: Meddling, Matchmaking Headmaster  
  
Severus trailed behind Albus, feeling strangely...lost, and...alone without Harry, who had been sent to inform each house that classes were canceled for the day, and that a teacher would be arriving shortly to explain the situation. After that, the boy was to go to bed, and hopefully get some much-needed rest. Severus hoped his housemates wouldn't hound him too much. Imagining the relentlessness of Gryffindors in general, Snape felt sorry for the boy.  
  
Of course, he SHOULD be feeling sorry for himself—never mind that thrice-damned irresistible delicacy of a youth—who would NOT, after all, even have to explain himself, since undoubtedly it would be considered a given that Snape was wholly responsible for the situation. And he WAS, he supposed; after all, the poor boy could hardly have known what he was doing.  
  
"After being involved with Blaise Zabini for nearly a month?" the Headmaster sounded incredulous, and Severus was horrified to realize he'd been muttering fragments of his thoughts aloud. "I think he had a fairly good idea of what he was doing. Really, Severus, I'm beginning to wonder which one of you is the innocent in this relationship." He didn't sound the least bit upset, but Severus's mind had already latched on to another upsetting possibility.  
  
"Headmaster," he said in a quiet voice, nervous that even in these empty halls someone might overhear, "you cannot possibly hold Potter responsible for this. This was NOT his fault, I assure you. I was the one who. I was. The one." He stopped and swallowed several times. How much had the man witnessed? 'Oh, come now, Severus. This is Albus Dumbledore you're thinking of. He saw things even you did not notice. Of course, you had your eyes closed and your hands, mouth, and mind all otherwise occupied, but still.' "I was the one who instigated the kiss. It happened. Without his permission. Completely involuntary on his part. I grabbed him and did not allow him to protest, and threw him up against the wall and. And." He stopped short, aware that his face was burning from painful embarrassment.  
  
They were next to the gargoyle now, and Dumbledore had paused and turned to him, face appearing far more interested than he had any right to be. By the Gods, he looked almost as though he found the situation entertaining. "And kissed him, am I correct?"  
  
"Yes," Severus grated, shoulders hunched. To Dumbledore, he looked more like his schoolboy counterpart than he possibly could have appreciated, and the Headmaster carefully kept the smile from his face. Severus took a deep breath. "Yes, that's right. I kissed him. I instigated it. I kissed him." His jaw was set, hands clenched.  
  
"Finally," Albus rejoined. "I thought poor Harry was going to simply perish from unalleviated desire," he added, turning and stepping onto the spiral staircase. He had to reach back and yank the Potions Master up after him, after it became apparent that the man would not be capable of performing any action, besides standing and gaping, without some assistance. He sighed, after watching the man stare at him for so long it was becoming uncomfortable. They'd reached the office, but Severus had made no move to step off. Finally, Dumbledore pointed to the floor. "Severus, your shoes are untied."  
  
Snape, reacting with the same instinct all of us have whenever anyone gestures to our feet and mentions shoes, insects, or dropping something, glanced down, breaking the moment. His head jerked up once more at the Headmaster's snort of laughter, and he scowled. "Very amusing. With that decidedly mature sense of humor, perhaps YOU ought to be the one screwing a student," Severus spat spitefully.  
  
Never one to easily have a rise gotten out of him, Dumbledore merely gave him an ironic smile. "I'm not the one with the infatuation for one," he replied calmly. "And I know as well as you do that the relationship hasn't progressed quite that far, so you ought to stop attempting to provoke me. I also know, regardless of anything that happens now, or in the future, that you are not some depraved, ruthless old pedophile. Really, Severus, before Harry Potter, had you ever considered taking any of your students to bed?"  
  
Severus was silent a long moment. "No," he admitted, then laughed harshly. "Only Potter. As always, he gets the privilege of being 'the chosen one,'" the man said bitterly.  
  
Dumbledore managed to refrain from rolling his eyes, a habit he was unaccustomed to, but which Severus, it seemed, could prompt from a saint. "I'm nearly certain he views it with somewhat less self-pity than you'd think," he assured the man. "And," he continued, "I hardly think of Harry as some sort of bed-hopping Lolita out for a bit of fun. I certainly would not allow him to use you in that manner." He gave the man a helpful smile, dropping into the chair behind his desk.  
  
Severus, aggravated, had to sort his thoughts several times over before gasping, "I should hardly imagine so!" Reflecting on this, he blushed and added, "I meant that Harry is no...promiscuous adolescent, who would sleep with just anyone at the drop of a hat. And how dare you even consider it." The words lacked the heat he'd tried to instill in them.  
  
"I did NOT consider it," Albus replied. "I am merely mentioning that I could see that was not the case. No, Harry is no Lolita. If he were, I'm sure you would have reacted quite differently to his attention. By knocking him halfway across the room with your forehand, for preference." He did not quite meet Severus's eyes, and allowed the man to go from pale with shock, to pink with mortification, and finally to a nearly normal color as he realized no wrath of the Headmaster was forthcoming, all without being under scrutiny. Dumbledore fumbled in his desk drawer for a moment, pulling a number of objects out, unwrapping one, and popping it in his mouth.  
  
"Oh, Merlin," Severus said with disgust. "And now I suppose you will offer ME one of your little sugar-coated treats? You do realize that, as a potential miracle offering, a bit of candy cannot, in fact, solve everything?"  
  
The Headmaster made a face at him. "On the contrary, this is a throat lozenge. All night yelling back at forth in the village, and I discovered I rather needed one." Severus had the good grace to look chagrinned. "Although I must say; I've found candy to be an ideal mediator. What men, of good will and sound mind, cannot find common ground in a chocolate covered toffee?"  
  
Severus shook his head, putting an exasperated hand across his eyes. "If we could return to the subject at hand..." He sank down into the chair across from the Headmaster.  
  
"One would think you a masochist, Severus. I know you are not enjoying the topic," the old man's eyes twinkled at the back of the Potions Master's hand.  
  
"I find it somewhat less excruciating than listening to you lecture on how to make peace through the abundant distribution of various cloying confections," Snape responded defensively. Albus smiled knowingly, and Severus resisted the urge to add a new bend to that old and twisted nose.  
  
'Poor Severus. Always trying to atone for something.' Clearing his throat, Albus gave him a piercing look. "Neither you nor Mister Potter is going to be punished or lectured...well, perhaps lectured, just a BIT...for this, erm, indiscretion. You are not in trouble. Harry is not in trouble. Is that much understood?" When Severus nodded slowly, eyes wide with little to no comprehension, Dumbledore continued. "Frankly, I think this relationship is going to have enough obstacles without one overworked and distracted Headmaster poking his nose into it." Once again, Severus displayed his remarkable ability to gape like a fool. "You should show that to Mister Potter," Dumbledore remarked politely. "The gaping, that is. You must have learned it somewhere and, really, I think you'd do him proud."  
  
At this, Severus managed to snap his jaw shut and muster up a glare. "I do not see how you can be so—so blasé about all this," he hissed. "You cannot possibly—approve?—of this...relationship! Surely it has not escaped your attention that I am many, many years older than Mister Potter, which means probably far more experienced—Blaise Zabini notwithstanding—and in addition a Death Eater, a spy, and one of Voldemort's prime targets, once he knows my true intentions?"  
  
"Precisely!" Dumbledore exclaimed, looking pleased.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Oh," the Headmaster deflated just a little. "I thought maybe you were catching on," he said in a slightly disappointed tone. Severus just stared. "My dear boy, you just named some very good reasons for your being involved with Mister Potter." He sighed when the look on Severus's face approached; 'The man has LOST his MIND.' "Where shall I begin explaining...Let's see. No. No—I think we ought to begin with what happened tonight." At this, the happy glimmer in his eyes dimmed, and he leaned back in his chair, no longer looking as though he were looking forward to divulging some great, elaborate plan.  
  
"Hogsmead was attacked tonight," he said in a sad voice.  
  
"I am aware of this." A sudden thought occurred to Severus. "Has anyone contacted Lupin? Because we were unaware of Harry's whereabouts, and he thought—"  
  
"All taken care of. He'll be joining us for dinner this evening, as well as the meeting afterwards. You know, it's nice that the two of you have found something to...bond over," Dumbledore said thoughtfully.  
  
Severus was taken aback. "Oh, yes, BOND over, I don't think! If he finds out I've had my hands on his quasi ward, he—he'll BITE me. And never feel one bit of remorse for it, either." Gods, this was INSANITY.  
  
"Oh, I rather doubt that," Albus responded abstractedly. "He always was the LEAST violent of all of you. I simply don't see him doing such a thing, even out of duty to James—or to Harry. No, thank your lucky stars it won't be James or Sirius you'll have to deal with, and instead our mild mannered werewolf. He WILL be somewhat distressed at first, I've no doubt, but he'll come around. If you have difficulty with him, I can always have you in for a mutual discussion and some toffee." This earned him another glare, this one approaching the seething, frustrated looks he was familiar with from the man.  
  
"Last night," Severus prompted, electing to steer the conversation in a less futile direction.  
  
"Last night," Dumbledore sighed. "Last night, Lucius Malfoy attacked Hogsmead, apparently in an attempt to reach and destroy Harry Potter."  
  
"I see," the Potions Master responded, mind reeling. "I was not forewarned of this." Which meant one of two things; either Lucius was acting on his own—an extremely unlikely possibility, considering how little he was likely to gain from it—or the Dark Lord had been made aware that Severus was a spy. His brow furrowed as he contemplated this. Why would he send Lucius to attack Hogwarts if he knew Severus was a spy? Why not just pretend he knew nothing, and call the Potions Master out, luring him to a place where he would not be able to summon aid?  
  
"No, I don't know that anyone was forewarned of this, exactly. Lucius acted on his own—or was meant to think he was acting on his own. No, not Imperius. Voldemort was more subtle than that this time. He simply informed Lucius that Harry had killed his son, and then let Lucius's mind come to its own conclusions—as well as plans for vengeance."  
  
"Draco?" Severus queried. "But Draco is in Vermont. On a long holiday..." But Draco was nearing the age at which he'd be expected to take the Dark Mark. Skiing in Vermont did seem a little unlikely, now that he stopped to think it over. Damn. "Not in Vermont, then, I take it," he said slowly.  
  
"Not in Vermont," Dumbledore agreed grimly. "Apparently, he'd just been given the Mark. Early, I agree, but Voldemort...was most anxious to gain control of someone so close to Harry. As a test of his loyalty, he was given a task...a task at which he failed. Perhaps Voldemort would eventually have gotten over that. Unfortunately, he did not simply fail. He chose to fail. And discovered that not only could he not hide his failure, but that he could not hide his choice. I do not imagine Lucius was present when Voldemort killed him."  
  
"No. Not if he was convinced to come after Harry," Severus replied in a hollow voice.  
  
"All Voldemort had to do was make some semi-reasonable accusation against Harry, and then sit back to see what Lucius would do. If Lucius got through, then at the very least there would be deaths and strife and, quite possibly, the elimination of Voldemort's most feared enemy and, if Lucius did not get through, then there would likely be the extermination of a lieutenant who was, after all, showing signs that he would shortly become unmanageable. Voldemort could not lose."  
  
Severus took a deep breath, feeling his heart accelerate. "That is...more planning than I would have credited him, at this point," he admitted shakily. "Was Lucius killed?"  
  
Albus gave him a tight smile. "Not quite. There were numerous curses aimed his way, but I believe he escaped relatively unscathed. Abandoning some of his followers to us, of course, which just shows how much he's modeled himself after his master."  
  
"And they supplied you with this information," Snape guessed. He pondered how Lucius was able to escape, thus leaving both of the Dark Lord's goals unaccomplished. 'How very, very sly of you, old man. But I have doubts about the advisability of letting Lucius remain free, at such a time.'  
  
Dumbledore inclined his head. "After being left alone with the Weasley twins and some of their more intimidating-looking toys for a short time."  
  
Snape scowled. "What were those children even doing there?" he griped.  
  
"Now, now, Severus. I feel I must point out that you had, just a short time ago, your tongue down the throat of a boy of an even younger age." He had to bite back a smile as the Potions Master flushed again. Severus needed to learn to loosen up a little. One had to have a sense of humor about these things. "And after tonight, there aren't many who would deny them the right to call themselves men. They were visiting Zonko's, of course; indulging in a little trading. We were very lucky they were there when the chaos erupted; they managed to catch one of the Death Eaters, all on their own. That, and they put out most of the fires. Well, they do know all about that sort of thing, don't they?"  
  
"There were fires?"  
  
"Indeed. Once it became apparent that Harry was not going to be captured or killed, Lucius evidently decided to turn his efforts toward the more mundane devastation presented by the option of arson. I believe we would have lost most of the town, if not for the efforts of the Weasleys."  
  
Severus sighed. "This is not good. None of this is good. Albus...I'm going to have to leave the grounds, and report to my 'master.'"  
  
"Yes. Of course. If you are not gone for the rest of the day, I should appreciate it if you would take Harry aside and apprise him of events, as well."  
  
Severus looked pained. "Headmaster, I truly do not believe that is a very good—"  
  
"Oh, bollocks," replied the Headmaster easily. "It would do you good. That boy is just what the doctor ordered, to use a Muggle adage. He is the perfect thing to bolster your spirits after your dealings with the Devil. You'll both feel better for it." He cocked his head, examining the Potions Master shrewdly. "Stop fighting so hard, would you? Try to remember, Severus; we are each and every one of us exactly where we ought to be. Once you accept that, I can promise you that everything becomes much, much easier." At the exasperated look on Severus's face, Albus shook his head and smiled. "Don't worry, dear boy. I shall just have to explain."  
  
(Yeah, I didn't think the last one was much of a cliffie, but THIS one! Only a chapter or two left, my loves! But don't worry, I have another Snarry planned, as well as much other writings...hey, it's what I DO. I do hope you'll stick with me when I write other things. (Makes puppy eyes) Explanations, heartrending guilt, and the consumption of astounding amounts of alcohol to follow. And once again our boys are discovered in a compromising position. Review! Review like the wind! I promise to make all your Snarry dreams come true, solong as you support my hubris, and fulfill the needs of my ego! Remember, to quote that renowned, unforgettable work of literature by Isis, Oral sex, "Fuck you!" ; ) StarryGazer) 


	32. Myriad Meetings

(Okay...so we have at least one more chapter to go. Cryin' out loud, I never can write to where I think I'll get to, plot-wise. When I repost this, it will probably be part of the last chapter anyhow. This one wasn't getting too long, I just liked where it ended. So I have the beginning of the next chapter written, but I have no idea if it will be the last. It's Ron's fault. Whenever he gets himself put in the story, he starts leading me off into things I hadn't planned on, the little bastard.

Echo the Insane: It would be great if you could do a couple of my chapters for me, just to give me an idea. I tried to email you back, but it kept insisting that I log in, but wouldn't let me. I told my roomie, 'God does not want me to work on finding a Beta tonight. He says, "Finish the chapter you're working on, you stupid shit, before you go screwing around with Betas." When God speaks to me, he is very sarcastic. And rather belligerent.' So is there another way I could reach you or something? Let me know!  
  
Thanks to: Echo the Insane, of course, for offering to Beta me, Dominic.R, The-Magnificent-Fuzzy, odessaspacey1, Kudama, Menecarkawan (yes, I know you don't like the guy, but he's still around, sorry!), Agar (A very big finish is planned, and Jr. says 'hi'), chocytwo, Mercury Sands (you crazy goofballs, you seem to like my uber-fictional snake more than some canon characters; here's something for your sweet tooth (sweet fang?)), Iaurhirwen, Roseaxis, Awen, Pure Black, Twilight66, and of course ShadowPhoenix, who is putting up with me while I grind this sucker out instead of replying to her email. Which I will, eventually!  
  
Adele Sparks: That was my favorite line by him! I was so inordinately proud of that. I'm glad you caught the irony in the not-eye-rolling/blushing. J.K. always gives Dumbledore the upper hand, so I decided to go with that. I thought he'd be hard to write, but he was kind of fun. And way easier than Draco!  
  
Anywho, hope you all enjoy this one....StarryGazer)   
  
Chapter 35: Myriad Meetings  
  
Dumbledore was smiling that habitual, mysterious smile, and Severus began tapping his foot in annoyance, causing Albus to give him a chiding look. Severus sighed deeply, but kept his foot still. "Look, is this going to take a great deal longer?" Abruptly, he sat straight up, his spine rigid.  
  
"Severus?" the Headmaster queried, his face becoming grave.  
  
"I...I suddenly have a pain in my left forearm," the Potions Master responded in a tense voice, "and it's likely to get worse before it gets better."  
  
Albus nodded in understanding. "Go, then. We can continue this later, but recall that I will be on hand if I am needed." He watched the dark man sweep out of the office, and allowed him to get partway down the stairs before calling after him, "And don't forget to speak with Harry afterwards!"  
  
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Harry tossed. And turned. And then tossed again. And then, for a change of pace, flung an arm out and struck Ron in the nose.  
  
"Ow! Sheesh, Harry, you didn't have to rough me up," his friend complained in a muffled voice.  
  
Harry sat up, plunked his glasses down on his nose, and gave Ron a grouchy look. "Well, it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been leaning over me again like that. Why are you in here, anyhow? A day free from classes, I thought you'd be out snogging Hermione senseless. I don't know why you're playing mother hen at me. You couldn't possibly have been checking to see if I was dead; I was flopping about all over the place, trying to get comfortable."  
  
"In reverse order; I didn't think you were dead, I was worried you were having a nightmare. If Voldemort had been in your head, I would have wanted to wake you quickly. Hermione is studying—yes, what do you expect—and I'm bored with studying, and we were both feeling a little fussy about you, considering you won't tell us what happened last night. And last: Ow, Harry! That really hurt! You've got, like, a mean left hook when you're sleeping."  
  
Harry snorted. "Yeah, that's me. Just call me the Homosexual Sleeping Ali of the wizarding world. And I'm not telling you anything because I can't. Dumbledore told me not to." He gave Ron a look that said; 'And considering the summer before last, don't you DARE complain to me about it.'  
  
"I know, Harry." Ron sat next to him on the bed. "It's just...you've been acting really funny lately. Like you have these really high highs and then really low lows. Getting all drunk at the Christmas party, going and spending galleons on a whole new wardrobe, giving Blaise the cold shoulder... And then, last night, one minute you're totally depressed because Snape yelled at you, and then you come bouncing in here hours later—after all that anxiety you caused me!—with this strange, dreamy grin. I don't get it!"  
  
Harry looked away, biting his lip. This was the sort of thing he and Ron were still not comfortable talking about. "In the first place, I have not been giving Blaise the cold shoulder. He's the one who said he wants to date other people, 'sort himself out' kind of bullshit."  
  
"Oh," Ron replied quietly. He was not Hermione, but neither was he completely stupid. "I'm sorry, and all, Harry. But I don't think it'll last. You guys seem to go back and forth, you know? One minute you're all over each other, the next minute you just seem bored with him. And he really is crazy about you; Jack and Seamus both say you're all he ever talks about anymore, and he's the same way around me. Which he isn't very often, but still. I mean, he's the Slut of Slytherin, supposedly, and you've practically got him eating out of your hand."  
  
Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, the Slut of Slytherin and the Gryffindor Whore; you would think we'd be a match made in heaven." Ron's ears went pink and he flinched a little at Harry's bitter voice. Harry spied this from the corner of his eye and sighed. "I don't know, Ron. Maybe it's harder because we're both guys. You know? At least with you and Hermione, you can always count on her to be smart. Maybe we have such a hard time because we're both guys, BOTH idiots. But...I don't think that's really it. It's just." Harry's brow wrinkled as he tugged at a loose thread from bedspread, avoiding Ron's eyes.  
  
"What is it?" Ron must have had a hard time asking; Harry knew perfectly well that these were areas of Harry's life Ron did not wish to have the details on.  
  
"I kind of don't want to be with Blaise. I never did. And now I feel sort of bad, because maybe I've just been using him from the very beginning." He looked up squarely into Ron's honest blue eyes, screwing his courage up. "I was still in love with Snape," he added in a very quiet voice. "I AM still in love with Snape. I don't want to hurt Blaise, but..."  
  
Ron heaved a sigh. "You do realize that the man treats you like dirt, right? I mean, every time I turn around he's yelling at you, calling you names, hurting your feelings..." Harry started to protest, but Ron doggedly went on. "Harry, if this is really what you want, then I'll respect it. But if this is some masochistic impulse of yours, we're going to have to sort you out eventually. Because I WILL NOT stand around and watch him hurt you over and over again. I mean it, Harry; I can't take that kind of torture."  
  
Harry managed a watery smile at this and said, "Thanks, mate. Means a lot to me."  
  
"Harry...I don't know if I even want to know this, but does he even, you know... Could he even see you that way? He's never shown any interest in you, so far as I can remember, aside from a vaguely affectionate-sounding insult." Ron flopped back with his arms behind his head, only his eyes betraying his concern.  
  
"I...don't know for certain," Harry admitted. "He does push me away a lot, but that could stem from any number of reasons. He could be afraid of getting hurt, or he could be trying to protect me...or himself...but he can be really, really wonderful, too. He. Er. He kissed me. Twice. Once just this morning, in fact. But...I mean; I just don't get it. Sometimes he does...THINGS...that seem like only someone who really loved me would do. But he said he didn't. He said a few weeks ago that he could never have feelings for me. So...why does he do nice things, then? Why did he kiss me?" He looked at Ron shyly from behind his lashes, and was relieved to see the redhead seemed more contemplative than murderous.  
  
"You mentioned kissing once before. I can't even imagine it. Well, I don't much WANT to, really, but...I just don't know. I mean, nothing makes sense. Snape kissed you because he likes you—too weird, and he doesn't act like it. Snape kissed you because he feels sorry for you—just as weird, and he's never felt sorry for you before. Snape kissed you...to try to drive you crazy, getting you to guess at why. There. That could be it."  
  
Harry gave a wry smile and said, "Well, he did sort of kiss me like he was trying to drive me crazy."  
  
"Huh?" Ron replied, looking puzzled.  
  
Harry cleared his throat. "He...he kind of pushed me up against the wall and—and—it was like he was trying to devour me, starting with my mouth and working his way down into my soul—and he was caressing my face with his hand—like all over my face; touching and feeling and petting—and it was. Just. Breathtaking. Scorching. It was like we were two flames trying to consume each other. And I know he wanted it, too, because he—" Harry broke off to look at Ron, who had his eyes clamped shut and his nose scrunched up. "Er. Sorry."  
  
"Well...I'm not going to go with my first reaction here, because I don't think 'Eurgh, Snape-cooties! You're probably infected!' or 'I'm going to be ill,' is what you're hoping to hear." Ron sighed a long, long breath out. "It rather sounds like he likes you, too. So. I think you need to dump Zabini, and work on getting the...person...you really want. There. That's what Hermione would say, isn't it? Better?"  
  
Harry considered this a while. "Yes...but...I'd like to know what YOU think. I mean; are you okay with this? Are you going to be sick or angry every time you look at me? And even if I did somehow 'get' Snape—if he suddenly fell madly in love with me and wanted me to move into his dungeon, and spend all his time making goo-goo eyes at me—could you even stand to be friends with me?"  
  
Ron gave him a half disgruntled, half amused look. "In the first place, if Snape started making goo-goo eyes at you, you'd probably just get bored with him, since you're obviously a bleeding masochistic lunatic. In the second place...I dunno. My first instinct was to tell you that I'll be all right with it, eventually...give or take a few thousand years. But...I mean, you told me you'd written about how you felt in that journal. So I've been kind of thinking about it, getting used to it, already. And I've been watching Snape pretty closely, too, wondering why you were even interested, and...Harry, I wouldn't take it as gospel, but I think he's got a thing for you, too. He watches you like he doesn't watch me or Hermione. Like, with this really intense look on his face. Like you're the only person in existence, or at least the only one that matters.  
  
"And every time someone mentions Zabini, he sort of twitches, like he's been jabbed with something sharp. And every time he sees you with Blaise, he gets this homicidal look in his eyes, and sort of tenses up. I sort of tested him on that, that time you were angry with him and stopped coming to class for a few nights? The first time you didn't show, he asked, 'And where is Mister Potter?' so I said, 'He's out with his little sugar daddy.' He just stared at me, so I added, 'Oh, you know, they're doing the whole Romeo and Juliet bit—"I love you, Blaise! Not as much as I love YOU, Harry!"' And he just kept on staring at me and muttered something about how that wasn't how Romeo and Juliet went at all. And he said, 'And I suppose Mister Potter and Mister Juliet are far too otherwise occupied than to care if the Dark Lord plans on killing us all tomorrow?' So I told him, 'It's funny you should say that, because Harry said he wouldn't care if he DID die tomorrow, so long as he was with Blaise. Isn't that sweet?' And he got all twitchy again and started gritting his teeth. And then on the next night, he didn't even say anything, so I said, 'Harry said he's sorry he can't make it tonight, but he's learning more important lessons from Blaise. Like how not to be a virgin.' And man, did he SLAM that cursed candlestick down on his desk! He was jealous, Harry. Totally jealous."  
  
Harry gave Ron a reproachful look. "You shouldn't have done that," he said. Then, "Do you really think he was jealous?"  
  
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"If you would but test my—my loyalty, my lord..." Dear God, he had almost said PATIENCE. "Just give me a task. I swear I will fulfill it." Or reveal myself as a spy, but why bother you with something as trivial as the truth?  
  
"Very well, then, Severus," Voldemort smiled slowly, and Snape got the distinct feeling he had just walked into a trap. "There is one way you could prove yourself, beyond all doubt. As you so perceptively pointed out, my plans of late have had a tendency to go awry. I wonder why that is?"  
  
"Ah, I imagine you mean the failures incurred by the Malfoys. Have you spoken with Lucius regarding the recent incident, yet?" Snape desperately tried to steer the conversation—the blame—in another direction.  
  
"Lucius is being punished for acting without my orders," the Dark Lord replied coldly. "Although it is not only the Malfoys who have failed me. No matter, because Thursday night, I assure you, nothing will go wrong. This coming Thursday, you will execute your assigned task exactly as requested, or die trying." He gave Severus another slow, snake-like smile. "Or you will wish you had."  
  
After fifteen years of doing this sort of thing, Severus's instincts were well honed. Right now, they were screaming at him. They said someone was about to die...and he might not even be able to influence who.  
  
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Blaise had lived through one of the worst days of his life. First to be roused before five in the morning with the news Harry had gone missing—Harry! His Harry!—and then the hellish ordeal of keeping the Slytherins in their own portion of the castle—God, what an utter bitch that had been! (Although he was quite proud of himself, for Snape had said to keep them in, and keep them in he had! Being a star Charms student had allowed him to cast Avertere on the common room doors, and a Summissi Spell on a few of the more likely transgressors, rendering them unable to even aspire to leaving their rooms.) And then, finally, Harry had shown up at the door; 'my hero' Harry, telling them they were safe. Blaise didn't need to be told Harry had saved them again. And standing there, staring at the Gryffindor, watching Harry's brave, tired, face telling them all that they would be all right, that a professor would explain things to them soon, that it was over...he was just so...so... Blaise knew he was lying, of course. They all must have known; they were Slytherins. And if not one student in their house had advance warning of what had happened the night before, he'd snog Hermione Granger. Well, he WAS running out of fresh males around here; that was for sure. Although not, he felt, so badly so that he'd need to start on the female portion of Hogwarts. But Harry'd said they were safe, and for at least as long as he was standing in the doorway, they'd believed him.  
  
Because he was Harry.  
  
Blaise certainly believed him. Harry hardly ever lied. He tried not to...and, strangely, that was one of the nicer things about him. Blaise didn't mind lies; he'd been taught that truth was a weakness. But Harry was truthful, and he was anything but weak. Blaise had tried to forget about him in the past week; had ignored him, had focused on schoolwork during the day, and at night, had thrown himself into meaningless sexual encounters with boys whose names he did not even bother to learn. But no matter how good it was, no matter how easy it came, no matter how thoroughly he acted out his passive-aggressiveness (and he knew perfectly well that was what it was), there was still always and only one name on the tip of his tongue. Harry.  
  
WHY couldn't he forget the damn Gryffindor? Why couldn't he just walk away? Why, at the very least, did Harry have to be so bloody...celibate? He kept saying he wasn't ready, but Blaise just couldn't understand what he was waiting for. And now, without Harry, instead of the heedless, refreshing freedom that he loved so much, he found nothing but frustration. He lie awake nights, thinking of Harry. There was just something inexplicably...wonderful about him. The boy had this damned enduring sweetness that just...lingered. Not on the lips so much, but in the heart. And one got the feeling he actually MEANT things when he said them. That was so far beyond Blaise's experience that he hardly knew what to call it. Just like the feeling he got by being with Harry. He'd heard the name of the mythical beast in fairy tales, but had never thought it real. They called it Love.  
  
He had made his decision. He would have to swallow his pride (when had he ever really had any?) and see if Harry would still have him. Taking a few deep breaths, he headed for Gryffindor tower.  
  
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With sleep eluding him and Ron and Hermione out mixing with the other houses the moment students were allowed to leave their dorms, Harry couldn't decide what to do. He took Junior out and played with him for a little while, feeding him bits of cockroach clusters and petting him absentmindedly. Junior, perceptive little reptile that he was, asked Harry what was bothering him, and Harry ended up having a most informative chat with the snake.  
  
Harry explained that he missed Severus, the man who'd caught Junior, and that he wasn't sure if Severus liked him. This was a difficult impression to explain, as snakes don't have any concept of 'like' or 'dislike,' and don't mate for life, and pretty much viewed other snakes as 'someone who could eat me,' 'someone I could eat,' or 'someone I could make more snakes with.' Uncertainly, Harry vaguely put his relationship with Severus in the latter, although this did not serve to clarify things very much.  
  
Junior, with his tentative, yet developing understanding of the human psyche, had created a new category for people like Harry—'someone who will feed and pet and entertain me.' The last concept was extremely new wave thinking, for a snake, and he was very proud of himself. Few snakes had enough leisure time for entertainment, not to mention for creating words to represent it. Junior listened to Harry's troubles attentively, and although he had probably not been trying to say anything particularly comforting in response, nonetheless he managed to do so.  
  
Harry had had to jog the small reptile's memory of who Severus was, as he had not seen the man in some time, and snakes do not have fantastic memories. After realizing who Harry was referring to, Junior had noted 'I thought he was one who could eat me, but instead fed me and petted me and played with me.' Harry thought this was odd, because aside from the one time the Severus had reached out a tentative finger and stroked Sevvie's head, he couldn't remember the man touching the snake, and he certainly couldn't remember him ever playing with him. It took a lot of questioning and clarifying, but Harry finally realized what had happened. Severus HAD spent time holding, stroking, feeding and even speaking to the snake, although Junior of course did not understand the words. It had been the night Severus found the journal. Severus told Harry that he did not return his feelings, that Harry's feelings were inappropriate, that Severus could never love him; and then, after Harry'd left, he'd apparently taken the snake out and carried him into the bedroom, where he'd sat with the Junior curled around his wrist, just as Harry had once done, and had a long heart to heart with him. Junior implied the man had been very upset. Harry would have dearly loved to know what Severus said that night.  
  
Eventually Harry finally gave up on sleep altogether and decided to join the rest of the school in the Great Hall, where rumors were being traded, and the students attempted to comfort one another. There was too much on his mind, and he wanted to talk more with Ron and Hermione. They were the only ones who knew about Snape, and he felt desperate to discuss...not what had happened last night, exactly, but the repercussions of it.  
  
Death Eaters had been in Hogsmead. Snape had definitely not been with them. He had not been summoned. They hadn't told him. They'd attacked, and they hadn't warned him beforehand. To Harry, that could only mean one thing; they suspected. Voldemort suspected. And if that were true, Severus Snape was a dead man walking.  
  
And just what, exactly, could Harry do about that? Call Voldemort out? That would be bloody stupid, even for him. He wasn't ready to face Voldemort yet. Besides, he had learned his lesson from last year—not to go rushing out when he thought someone else was in trouble. God. Did he have to think of that now? His head spun; visions of Sirius falling through the veil began to blur, becoming visions of Snape in Sirius's place. He could not lose two men he loved so much because of his own recklessness. If he had just stayed the fuck out of it and trusted Snape in the first place, Sirius would still be alive.  
  
He would just have to trust Snape now. He would have to trust him to know what to do. Trust Snape to handle it. And above all, never, never let Voldemort use Harry against the Potions Master the way he had against his godfather. Voldemort couldn't know about this: Harry—Snape—the kiss—Harry's feelings. What had Severus said when recovering in the hospital ward? 'I will rip each and every thought from my head, and render my lips unable to say the words, before I let that monster use me to get to him... Already, I plunder my own memories ruthlessly before facing the man...' Voldemort was a skilled Legilimancer. Harry was sure he rifled through Snape's thoughts every time he called the man to him. How horrible for Severus, to have to endure what amounted to mental rape, again and again and again.  
  
And all it would take was one slip up, one word out of place, one memory of one unguarded moment. One infinitesimal suggestion that Severus did not wish Harry dead, or that he had not fully done what the Dark Lord wanted. Whatever Voldemort did when he saw that likely wouldn't impact Harry at all, as far as Voldemort would know, but Severus would be just as dead. There was only one thing Harry could do—he could stop giving Snape memories that could put him at further risk. Stop giving himself memories that would implicate Snape if Voldemort got into Harry's mind again. That was all he could do. He had to stay away from the man. Because he loved him. He could not lose Severus because of his own thoughts and desires. He would just have to avoid him; that was all.  
  
He rounded the corner and walked straight into the Potions Master.  
  
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(I do hope you all see what's about to come to a head. Resolution! Of one little loose-end, at any rate. Sorry they didn't get into any compromising positions, that will have to happen next time. Maybe Junior will go along for the ride when Harry has his little meeting with Snape; what do you think? Ah, three is my number of power for this and the ending...if anyone guesses why, I'll be surprised. Danger and intrigue, confessions, sacrifice and much, much more to come. Well, maybe not too much. A few chapters worth, anyhow. Need I beg for your reviews? Love me! Starry)


	33. Dungeon of Love

All right, I love you all dearly. I would thank you individually as I usually do, but I need sleep. NOW. Because my eyes are half-shut and I'll bet my punctuation is not the greatest in this one. I may repost with thanks and notes and that, but for now, enjoy! Revel in my creation! StarryGazer)  
  
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Chapter 36: Dungeon of Love  
  
"Se—Professor!" Harry gasped in surprise, and the man grunted in return.  
  
"Potter. I shall require your presence downstairs. Not immediately. After supper."  
  
Harry could not fail to notice the man was particularly pale, his eyes dark and large and glittering. Afraid. His hands were tightening at the knuckles, and then relaxing, and then tightening again as they hung at his sides. It was as though he were a gunfighter, and expected, and any moment, a voice to cry out behind him, 'Draw!" Except, of course, it would be his wand he drew, instead of a gun, and Harry did not think Voldemort so noble as to give warning before he cursed someone. Harry did not like the man's tenseness.  
  
He was frozen to the spot, debating, when Severus stepped closer, gently brushing his fingers against the sleeve of Harry's robe. Harry reached out, barely grazing those fingers with his own.  
  
Blaise reached the top of the steps and froze. There had been no voices to warn him of what was going on in the upper hall; although he could see that Harry's lips were moving, the boy was talking so quietly that no sound traveled beyond the small confines of their private world. He saw Harry's hand reach up and gently push back a strand of the Potions Master's hair—as if he needed further confirmation of their sudden intimacy. Blaise took a hesitant step backward, watching carefully.  
  
Harry was looking up into the man's eyes; his own were large and soft with tender radiance. His movements were shy, but the shyness hardly managed to dim the burning emotion that infused them. The old man didn't even seem to realize. He looked uncertain; insecure—as though, in fact, he didn't have any idea how Harry felt about him.  
  
Blaise had no such incomprehension. Harry's green eyes were lit, as though they were showing off the glow in his heart, and Blaise knew Harry, too, had glimpsed the truth in the myth. Love. And the veiled longing in the Potions Master's eyes told everything Blaise needed to know about how the man felt in return.  
  
And nothing left on the table for Blaise. Fuck. Unrequited love was such a bitch. He began to hear voices, coming up the stairs behind him. The students were going back to their dorms. If he wanted to say anything to Harry, he'd better say it now. But was there anything left to say? He deliberated on the future for a few moments, picturing how Harry would run to him for comfort every time Severus struck him down—and it would happen a lot. And Blaise would give him what he needed—oh, God—and then it would be back to Severus, with an honest apology. He couldn't live like that. And every time it happened, it would cut the man to the quick—he deserved it!—but then the distrust and betrayal and self-loathing would build up, eat away at all three of them. Severus would try to pretend all was normal, but whenever he felt particularly hurt he would lash out, and then the cycle would start all over again. And Harry would hurt. He didn't deserve that. And feel guilty, and he felt that way too much already.  
  
Blaise walked quickly towards the two of them. He would have to stop it, now. Take this thing and snap it in half, so that it could never be mended again. It was the only way.  
  
"Harry?" he called in his seductive undertone as he came closer. "I need to talk to you."  
  
'Oh, fucking great. This is JUST what I need. Like trying to communicate with Severus isn't nearly impossible at the best of times.' Out loud, Harry remained patient. "Yes, Blaise?"  
  
"I've decided this has just gotten too...too monotonous. I mean; I AM somewhat fond of you, but I cannot remain abstinent for the rest of my life. Your persistent adhesion to maidenhood is touching, but just a tad...well, pathetic, to tell you the truth. I just can't wait for you. I'm very sorry but, well...you knew I would get bored eventually. Don't feel too badly about it; it was just another fling for me, and I'm sure you'll eventually find someone decent, though undeniably not someone so skilled as myself." Harry was staring at his fellow student, giving Snape another excellent demonstration of the art of dropping one's jaw. "Do take care of yourself, won't you?" Blaise bit his lip a moment, but found he was unable to resist his impulses. He grabbed Harry by the front of his robes and pulled him into a short, but very deep kiss, ending with a swift tongue over the boy's front teeth. "But if you should ever decide on losing the cherry act, I'd be willing to give you a one-shot lesson in the art of sexual satisfaction," he informed Harry in a low, sultry voice, before stepping back and giving him a goodbye wink.  
  
Harry didn't even notice that the hall around them had filled up with students. He completely ignored the multiple witnesses to his scandalous breakup, his ignominious dumping. He watched Blaise walk up to Severus—who looked as though he'd been force-fed a glass of vinegar—and mutter something to the man, before turning and flouncing his way back down the hall. Harry found he was shaking a little.  
  
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry!" he heard Hermione cry, and he shook his head at her, giving her a warning glance.  
  
"That was kind of a shitty thing to do," Seamus said somewhere behind him.  
  
"Yes, but quite predictably Blaise all the same," Jack sighed in return. "The Great Zabini does it again! Be amazed at his miraculous contortions! Let him astound you with his mysterious disappearing act!"  
  
Harry felt something plucking at his sleeve, and followed as Snape motioned him off to one side.  
  
"Eight o'clock. Understood?"  
  
Harry recalled his former pledge to keep the man safe, and tried to harden his resolve. "I can't," Harry croaked, stepping back. "I have—I have to. I just can't. I'm sorry."  
  
Severus looked frankly astonished for a moment; obviously he thought the youth would leap at the opportunity to spend further time in his company. "Do you have other plans?" he demanded, eyes narrowing.  
  
Harry couldn't meet them. "Yes," he said, searching his mind frantically.  
  
"With Mister Zabini, perhaps?" Severus's voice was alarmingly glacial.  
  
Harry remembered Ron saying that Severus was jealous of Blaise. At the time, it had seemed amusing, but now he felt a twinge of fright. Besides, jealousy didn't feel very nice. He hadn't liked feeling it when he'd thought Snape and Lupin were together, and he certainly didn't want to inflict the feeling on anyone else. He didn't want to hurt the Potions Master, so he didn't say 'yes,' but merely shrugged and looked away.  
  
To Harry's surprise, instead of immediately becoming angry, Snape leaned in close to him.  
  
Severus wanted to shrug and act as though he didn't care. He wanted not to care. He really, really wanted to do the responsible thing and tell Potter that the meeting was nothing personal, just something Albus asked him to do. Instead, he heard himself say, "I suppose I should not be unduly surprised. He is every bit as appropriate as an after dinner mint, don't you think?" and was horrified by the ache and envy that were so blatant in his voice. It did have one positive affect: Harry's head jerked right up.  
  
"It isn't like that," Harry protested in a voice hardly above a whisper, and flinched at the self-mocking sneer that curled the man's lips, the bitter shake of his head. "It isn't like that at all." He lifted his hand timidly, again brushing a lock of hair out of the man's face. "I'm not going to see Blaise. I just don't...think. I...don't...God. I just don't want anything to happen to you," he whispered, trying to disregard the way he could still hear the other students talking about him in the background.  
  
Severus relaxed a little. "Then stop being stupid and follow my instructions," he told the boy. "Trust me." Harry chewed his lower lip in a far more enticing manner than ought to have been allowed, clearly still indecisive. "I've obtained a new bottle of brandy," the Potions Master said in a siren's voice, playing his trump card.  
  
Harry felt his lips quirk up at the corners. Really, it was sweet of him to bother with bribes, when all he really had to do was go into 'I-AM –The- Professor-You-Will-Do-As-I-Say' mode. All right. Trust. He could do that. "Eight o' clock," he agreed.  
  
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Harry made his way down to the dungeons that night, tired and confused. He worried about how he was to get back, with no invisibility cloak to shield him, and although he could have used the clasp Severus gave him for Christmas, he was too afraid of losing it. Maybe Snape would give him a pass or something. Two passes: one for him and one for Junior, who was going along for small, green moral support.  
  
When Snape opened the door, he led Harry into the study as always. Something had changed, though, and it took Harry a few moments to realize what it was; there was another smaller, more cushioned armchair across from Severus's antique wingback. He stared at it in surprise for a few moments before a snifter of brandy was held up in front of his nose.  
  
"Oh, so you DO have brandy!" he exclaimed, taking the glass and turning to his host. "And you're actually OFFERING me some."  
  
"And what, Mister Potter, is that supposed to mean?" Severus took a small drink of his own, studying the boy over the rim of the glass.  
  
"Nothing," Harry replied. "It's just that it would be so like you to say you had brandy, and not actually mean anything by it."  
  
The eyebrow arched. "Are you implying that I'm a tease?"  
  
Harry, who had been in the process of swallowing, choked a little on the liquor, while Snape rolled his eyes and patted him lightly on the back. "Brandy is to be sipped, Potter, not chugged down mouthful by mouthful," he remonstrated.  
  
"Yeah, well," Harry coughed, "You're just lucky I had already swallowed most of that, or you would be WEARING that particular mouthful."  
  
"I see you've brought your obnoxious little sidewinder along." Severus took another sip and arranged himself in his chair. "I fail to comprehend the reason," he sniffed.  
  
Harry set Junior on Snape's knee, forgoing the new chair for his preferred place at the man's feet. "Because ickle Sevvie missed his daddy," he said sweetly, with a wicked smile. Snape's eyes flashed at Harry, causing him to laugh, and Junior demanded to know what Harry had said.  
  
Harry made an attempt at translation, and repeated himself to the snake in Parseltongue. 'The one that spawned me?' Junior echoed in a puzzled voice, causing Harry to collapse in giggles. He leaned weakly against the man's legs and took another sip of brandy before trying to explain further. Severus watched him with concealed pleasure, wanting to run his fingers through the boy's hair, but settling for petting Junior.  
  
Harry told Junior that he liked Snape, and enjoyed teasing him. Junior, however, still did not fully grasp the idea of 'like' as opposed to 'dislike,' and wanted Severus put in a more familiar category. Harry reluctantly reiterated what Snape was to him, and Junior replied wisely, 'Then he is one you will make more snakes with?'  
  
Harry must have looked dubious, because Severus gave him a speculative look and said, "I feel rather left out. What exactly are the two of you discussing? The mysteries of the universe, one would assume?"  
  
"Sex," Harry replied inattentively. Severus blinked, but Harry did not even notice. Junior was asking him, 'But where are all the others?' "What do you mean, 'others?'" Harry asked the snake. "There aren't any others. Just Severus. What others would there be?"  
  
Junior tried to unfold the reptile world for Harry. 'One is not enough, is it? I am young, and have only mated once, but there were many others. Where is your ball? You should have a ball.'  
  
"Er...like a party?" Harry responded, picturing a scaly version of Cinderella.  
  
'I do not know 'party.' Is 'party' when many come together, in the sunshine, and form a ball to mate?'  
  
"Oh, yuck!" Harry said in English, laughing. Severus was still raising his eyebrows, so Harry repeated the conversation for his benefit.  
  
"Ah. Ophidian orgies. How nice," the man commented, throwing back the rest of his glass, and Harry laughed again. "And it's called a mating ball," he added as an afterthought.  
  
"I like 'snake ball' better. He wants to know, since I like you and want to be with you, where all of the others are," Harry told the man. "I suppose we could invite Lupin and Blaise to join us," he added teasingly, earning himself a sour look from the man. "Come on, you know you want to." Still snickering, he moved Junior out of the way and slid onto the Potions Master's lap. "No? I guess you'll have to settle for me, then." He pressed his lips lightly against the man's neck. "We can make a two person snake ball."  
  
With a will of its own, one of Severus's arms wrapped around the youth. "A two person snake ball. My life's ambition come to pass," he said dryly, and a moist pair of lips sealed themselves over his own.  
  
For a few minutes, both wizards were lost in the warmth of one another's mouths. Harry's fingers lightly ran up and down Severus's throat, dipping down the into collar of his robes, while Severus found one of his own hands sliding down to cup the boy's arse. Harry moaned into his mouth, causing the man to jerk back. "That's enough," he murmured. "I didn't call you down here for this." He pushed Harry gently away, trying to ignore the low, disappointed groan that touched off signals in his groin. "Harry. This is serious. We need to talk."  
  
Harry slid reluctantly out of Snape's lap onto the floor, stopping with his head perched on the man's knee. Severus elevated a brow at that, but Harry just scowled in return. He was damned if Snape thought he could get him any further away. Then the man sighed, his face turning troubled, and Harry felt his pulse quicken in alarm. The Potions Master rarely revealed any negative emotion other than anger. Worry was definitely a new one. "What is it?" he questioned gently.  
  
Snape paused, looking as though he would rather not answer, but finally responded, "Draco Malfoy is dead." Harry gasped. It couldn't be. He just saw Draco—held him even—at the Christmas party. It was only a little more than a week ago. "He'd been marked. The Dark Lord charged him with a task, and it was beyond his ability to complete."  
  
Harry heard the skittering sound of an unpleasant truth being avoided. He couldn't believe Snape would do that to him. He was cruel, but generally forthright. "What aren't you telling me?" he growled with a determined chin.  
  
The man sighed unhappily. "He was told to seduce you. He was told to bring you to Voldemort. He was made to entrap you, Harry."  
  
Harry suddenly sat ramrod straight at this news, as the realization dawned. "In the bathroom...that's what he was doing. And I ended up killing him. I did, didn't I? It's my fault he's dead," he croaked in horror.  
  
"It's nothing of the sort," Severus sharply snapped at him. "You have the most revolting habit of acting as though you are the cause and consequence of all things in creation. It's pure arrogance to speak that way." Harry looked a little calmer at this, and Snape felt himself breathe again. He had been convinced the wretched pup would cry, and that always caused the Potions Master to react in the most mortifying ways. "It was purely Draco's choice, and he was always a weakling. He made a good many ill decisions, and this is where it led him."  
  
Harry's eyes immediately filled with indignant tears. "How can you say something like that?" he hissed. "My God, Severus, he's DEAD. And whatever choices he made, it was MY choice that led him into that washroom that night. It was MY choice that led—to his death," he choked, the sobs beginning to well up. "He died because he warned me. Isn't that true? He died because of me. Just like Sirius. And Cedric. Be—because of me. The Dursleys should have kept me locked in that closet forever," he added. "I'm a menace." He was dimly aware of bowing his head to Snape's knee again, and the man's long, agile fingers running compassionately through his hair. "I should come with a label: WARNING—having this product in proximity may cause sudden death."  
  
"Stop that," Severus ordered thickly. "What a load of bollocks. You were not the cause of any of that. Do you hear me? Stop it!" He cupped Harry's chin and forced the boy to look him in the eye. "If you want to blame someone, then you may bloody well blame Voldemort! He was the cause of their deaths. He was the one that wanted them to die."  
  
Harry was so shocked he stopped crying. "You said his name. You've never done that before." Snape winced. "Oh, don't," Harry breathed. "It was. Very brave. I'm awfully proud of you."  
  
Snape's lip curled at the corner. "You are much too easily impressed, then." Harry leaned up and pressed his lips to the Potions Master's again. Severus, tasting salt, softly kissed back for a few moments before excusing himself to obtain a second glass of brandy. Harry asked if he might have some, as well, and Snape, surprised to see Harry had also finished his first glass, acquiesced. "I bought that chair especially for you," he pointed out gently. "Don't tell me that you intend to be a colossal waste of money, on top of everything else."  
  
Harry wrinkled his nose, smiling, and retrieved Junior to try out the chair. "It's very comfortable," he admitted. "But it's just not close enough to you."  
  
Severus raised his eyes heavenward, dryly proclaiming, "Yes, it's my uncontrollable animal magnetism that draws everyone near. Stars fall from the sky and birds drop dead at my feet whenever I go by." He sighed dramatically. "If you must, you may move the chair closer."  
  
The teen giggled wildly for a long moment before he could catch his breath enough to deal with the chair, and Snape mused that Harry really did not have the head for strong liquor. He should buy a bottle of light sherry to try instead, next time. NEXT TIME? What the hell was getting into him? Ah, yes. The brandy.  
  
"I think it's supposed to be 'stars fall down from the sky and...birds SUDDENLY APPEAR,' not 'drop dead at your feet,' Severus," Harry grunted, hauling the chair across the room. "Although I would agree that you have a rather intoxicating personality."  
  
The man shrugged. "I think the word you actually intended was 'toxic.' Either that or you are confusing me with the brandy. And as I am not overly fond of birds in any case, I fail to see what difference it makes. You do realize that with a wave of your wand, you could have saved yourself the brutish effort of having to heave that heavy object across the room, don't you?"  
  
Harry shot him a dirty look before flopping down, red faced and sweating. He'd placed the chair so close that their knees touched. "You could have offered that little tidbit before I got it all the way the hell over here," he pointed out.  
  
Severus sniffed. "I fail to see why I should enlighten you to such simple things. If you weren't cocooned in your own idiocy you would have come up with the insight on your own." Besides, the view of Harry bent over as he pulled the seat across the room was not one he'd have given up voluntarily. But the boy didn't need to know that. Severus took a nonchalant sip from his glass, wishing this would help chase away such thoughts, rather than augment them.  
  
"How did Draco die?" Harry asked quietly, causing the man's eyes to dart over to him. He seemed subdued, but no longer on the verge of hysteria. Thank goodness.  
  
"Avada Kedavra," Snape muttered untruthfully, for he had no idea. "It was very quick. The Dark...Voldemort had not an excess of patience that night." They sat in silence for a long time, drinking and reflecting. "I need to tell you what happened in Hogsmead," he finally told the boy, loathe as he was to twist the knife.  
  
"It was Death Eaters," Harry replied dully. "I was there. Or at least, I saw it, and they saw me. There were people running all over the place, screaming, panicking. It was awful."  
  
"It was Lucius," Severus responded. "The—V—Voldemort told him that you were the one to kill Draco. He wanted revenge. And, since not all of the Death Eaters feel that a mentally disturbed megalomaniac is, in fact, the most competent chairperson, they threw their weight behind the elder Malfoy when he suggested attacking Hogwarts. Well, actually, I doubt anyone feels Lucius is remotely saner than the D—v. Voldemort. Some have just come to fear him more. And others, perhaps, believed Voldemort's lie, and feared for their own hellish progeny. At any rate, I am given to understand that Voldemort believed either you or Mister Malfoy, Senior would be destroyed. However, Dumbledore protected you as he should have, and Lucius escaped. Back to square one, lucky us," he added bitterly.  
  
Harry was impressed by how often the man managed to say the name in just a few sentences. It was as though, by voicing it, he was trying to purge it from his being. "Severus?" he said, savoring that specific name. "When I was...in Hogsmead, Dumbledore said, 'To the hideout in the far south!' What did he mean? Why did he say that?"  
  
"Ah, that," Severus said, looking just a trifle smug. "We had had a meeting place; a 'hideout,' if you would prefer, in Brighton. As a way of appeasing my superiors, I was allowed to let its location be known. Dumbledore had them abandon it while Hogsmead was being attacked. He had been prepared to do so, of course."  
  
Harry smiled. "That was clever," he praised. After a few moments he added, "So now I have TWO magically adept, homicidal psychopaths after me?" he asked plaintively.  
  
Severus covered the boy's hand with his own, earning an enormously undeserved wide-eyed gaze of adoration. "If it is within my power, I will never let them harm you," he told Harry in a low voice.  
  
Harry smiled softly, and pulled the slender hand up to cradle it against his face, then kissed its knuckles. "Severus. You do know that I love you very much, don't you?"  
  
Severus grunted. "Do NOT put that in writing," was all he managed to reply, and felt badly when Harry gave him a brittle half-smile, trying to cover up the hurt. "And you must have had too much to drink, to start spouting such nonsense."  
  
Harry just sighed in response, and the sigh turned into a long yawn. Harry clapped both hands over his mouth, and tried to look alert and energetic afterward, in an effort not to get sent back to his own rooms.  
  
"You're eyes are very red," Severus observed pointedly.  
  
Harry looked angry. "I've done more than a little crying in the past couple of days," he replied.  
  
"When was the last time you slept?"  
  
Harry didn't respond for a long stretch. Finally he grunted, "The night before last." He turned to the Potions Master, pleading. "Don't send me away, please? Not just yet. Just a little longer? Just...just let me finish this glass, all right?"  
  
Severus hesitated before nodding. Harry took a couple more sips, and Snape noticed a few stray tears slip down the boy's nose. Reaching out, he deftly brushed them away. "Do you...want to...talk...about it?" he managed to grate out. Damn it! That wasn't what he meant to say at all! Bloody little urchin, looking like some sort of tragic cherub, forcing him to feel all...'sympathetic,' and 'touched.' Ha. Touched in the head, perhaps.  
  
"I didn't like him. And he died anyway. You'd think hating me should offer some protection, huh? We didn't like each other. I loved Sirius, oh, God, how I loved Sirius," he broke down into real tears again, and Severus was infuriated with himself when he promptly leaned over and swept the boy out of his chair, taking him back to his lap and holding him there. He found himself fighting a terrifying swell of...of...anti-hatred, as he kissed the top of the inky-black head. "He died...he was the only person who ever loved me like that." Severus would have been offended, but found this annoying overdose of... amity....drowned out everything else. "He was like...like my FAMILY, he loved me and touched me and acted like I was—I was—IMPORTANT, not because I'm the Boy Who Lived but because I'm ME, and they only HATED me, and it should have been them! Or me! It really was my fault—"  
  
"Shhh. Stop it, stop it, stop it," Snape whispered to him. It was obvious the youth had been living with this for some time, and it needed to be dealt with. Stupid Lupin, for not dealing with it when he should have. "It wasn't your fault. Sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes we could have done something differently. That doesn't mean it's our fault. We didn't even know, Harry. Don't you understand? It isn't your fault, because you couldn't have acted differently, because you DIDN'T KNOW. You did your best, sweetheart. You did your best." He was appalled and disgusted and somewhat relieved by the words coming out of his own mouth.  
  
Harry's sobs slowed considerably at hearing them. Then he grew angry instead. "You don't understand," he rasped acidly. "You don't know what it's like."  
  
"I don't know what it's like?" Severus repeated in disbelief. He took the boy by the hair, gently but firmly, and pulled back until he could look into Harry's face. "I don't know what it's like? When I have killed before, purposely killed? When I stood and watched two decent wizards tortured until they lost their minds? When, by my own inaction, by my own stupidity, by my own avarice, people died, cried, fell into hopeless despair? I don't know what it's like?" he repeated angrily.  
  
Harry had stopped crying. The look on his face made Severus's stomach twist for a moment—God, not pity. Not from this boy, not from anyone. Please, no pity. "You do understand..." Harry breathed, lifting a hand to run a fingertip over Severus's lips. "And I don't; not really. I'm awfully sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I was just...lashing out. I didn't mean anything by it."  
  
Severus replied, "You were upset. Think nothing more of it." He ran a hand lightly along Harry's back and said, "You're obviously very tired. Let's go to bed." He stood with the youth still in his arms, heading for the bedroom.  
  
"Wow. Really?" Harry sounded suddenly much more awake, and eager.  
  
"You need REST, Mister Potter. You will be sleeping. Any extracurricular activities will be resolutely quashed. Is that understood?"  
  
"Ooohhh. You're no fun. Besides, we really might as well. The list of things we have to keep from Voldemort is huge; it can't hurt to add one more, and Dumbledore already knows. So why not?"  
  
"Oh, Mister Potter, you hopeless romantic, you," Snape deadpanned. "You are underage. You will not be 'legal,' as the general populace so eloquently puts it, until next year—in wizarding society, which, need I remind you, is the only one that counts?"  
  
"You're going to make me wait a whole YEAR?" Harry exclaimed, nettled.  
  
Severus used his Slytherin mind games to full potential. "Yes, I should have realized you would not think it worth it." He felt Harry's indignation deflate.  
  
"I never said that. It's just...what if we don't live that long? What if you die? What if I die? What if we both die?" Harry asked petulantly.  
  
"I can see it will be sweet dreams tonight," Severus remarked, irked. "Mister Potter," he said, placing the Gryffindor on the bed, "I cannot. And if we were to do something like that, I must point out that I would, in reality, have a nearly impossible time hiding it from Voldemort. We are still in danger, Harry. Both of us. And as long as you are in danger, so is the rest of the world. This is a matter of responsibility."  
  
Harry refused to let go of the man's robe until he reluctantly settled in beside him, then anxiously twirled a lanky black strand of Severus's hair around a finger. "I understand," he answered. "I really do, and I'll try really, really hard not to do anything stupid."  
  
"Promises, promises," Severus huffed. "I would appreciate it, Mister Potter, if you would remove your shoes whilst sharing my bed. This isn't how you slept when you commandeered my sleeping quarters while I was away, is it?"  
  
Harry flushed, jumping up and untying his shoes. "You—realized that?"  
  
"I inferred it from the placement of the journal, and you just confirmed it," Severus responded, secretly relishing the fact that Harry had been sleeping in his bed. He wandered over to his wardrobe and pulled out a couple of pairs of silken pajamas, raising his eyebrows in offering.  
  
"Thanks," Harry grunted. Severus changed right there in front of him, moving fluidly and without shame. His skin was like alabaster, and Harry found he had to shake himself out of a reverie after tracing the line of dark hair on Severus's lower abdomen with his eyes. He was so enthralled that he tried to step out of his jeans without first removing his sneakers, and promptly fell over.  
  
He heard Snape chuckling with mirth. "As always, Mister Potter, I am bewitched by your deportment and incomparable poise. Come to bed, Harry," he added warmly.  
  
Harry set his glasses on the nightstand and crawled in next to the Potions Master. "So...no snake ball tonight, then, huh?"  
  
"Go to sleep, Mister Potter."  
  
"Severus? Whatever happens...I think it's worth waiting for. And you're worth waiting for. I love you," he whispered.  
  
Severus panicked. He couldn't deal with this. "Where did you put that bloody snake?" he said, in lieu of an answer.  
  
"Uh oh."  
  
It took them a little while to find Junior and get him a place to sleep, and by the time they did, Severus hoped Harry was thoroughly distracted. He let the boy wriggle into his arms, and they fell into a more rejuvenating sleep than either had experienced in many months.  
  
They were still cuddled together the next morning, when they woke to the Headmaster's gently cleared throat. Harry's dismayed eyes popped open, and turned to the blurry man in the doorway. "Gentlemen?" he inquired. His face, so far as Harry could discern, was very grave. "I shall need to speak with Professor Snape."  
  
"Shit," Snape replied.  
  
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(Yay for me, I got them in bed together! Okay, okay, I need bed, so no long ending, I will (perhaps) repost this later with more to it. And it's not well edited, so deal with it. And love me! Sing my praises to the four corners of the world! Buy me expensive gifts and have them delivered (like Jason Isaacs, wrapped in a big green bow. Yeah, that's good!) And above all, review long and hard! Starry) 


	34. The One Before the One Before the End

Check out my new Severus Spade and the Dame that was Harry Potter, here at FF.net. No thanks today, although I thank you all, especially those who've reviewed! It's late, I must sleep NOW! Hope you like, only one chap left! P.S. I don't know what to name this chapter! Pass along ideas and I'll pick one! StarryGazer  
  
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Chapter 37: Name that Chapter!  
  
"I think I'll just go back to sleep," Harry announced in a small voice, and pulled the covers over his head.  
  
Snape gave him a dirty look, but said to the Headmaster in what he hoped was a composed manner, "Please wait outside. I'll only take a moment to change."  
  
It was a good thing Harry had the covers over his head at this point, because Snape surely would have thwacked him upside the head for the grin that in reality remained hidden. He did, however, manage to make enough of a gap to discreetly watch the man as he disrobed. A year. A whole fucking year before he could have any of that. Unfair.  
  
He shut his eyes and feigned sleep as Severus turned toward the bed. "I know you're awake, you incommodious brat. If you feel exceptionally ill this morning, good, because you deserve it. If it's going to interfere with your studies, take the BLUE bottle that's second to the left on the bathroom counter, and use one spoonful to remedy your hangover. JUST ONE, or—and trust me on this—you'll end up far more sober than you'd like. I'm going to see what the blasted Headmaster wants. I'll expect you and your reptile out of my rooms by the time I return." Harry felt disappointment well up, and he made a soft mewling noise to indicate this. The man sighed crankily, but bent and quickly pressed his lips to the side of the scruffy head. Then he immediately tried to regain his grasp of the upper hand. "I'll see you in class, and not before. Make sure you're out, Mister Potter, or you will pay," he snarled threateningly.  
  
Harry gave him a rakish grin. "Is that a promise?"  
  
"Oh, shut up, Potter."  
  
"Another spanking or something?"  
  
"Or something," the man agreed. "You promised never to broach the subject again. Aside from that, it was more than two months ago. With your clearly insufficient brain, I'd have thought the whole incident would have been crowded out by now."  
  
"Ah. Yeah, brandy and the most kinky capital punishment ever dispensed at Hogwarts. Utterly forgettable."  
  
"Hmph. It wasn't meant to be forgettable, just horrendously chastising," the Potions Master replied curtly.  
  
"Well then, I must say it worked perfectly. I was thoroughly chastised." Harry hid the crossed fingers behind his back, and Severus gave him a suspicious look. "It was the ultimate, worst possible thing you could have done. I'll never get over it," he added, and at least the last bit was totally honest.  
  
Snape rolled his eyes. "Are you going to leave as I asked, Potter, or am I going to have to get out my candles, draw some diabolic symbols on the floor and banish you to the nether regions of hell?"  
  
"I'll leave, I'll leave," Harry replied. He snuggled back down in the bed. "After I've slept in, of course." He smiled smugly to himself as he heard the man mutter, beleaguered, as he left the rooms.  
  
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Severus found that Albus had left a note. 'In my office,' was all it read. He took a deep breath and went directly there. "Toffees of goodwill," he told the gargoyle, uptight. He HATED the new emergency password. When he reached the office, he found Dumbledore looking through a stack of papers. There were lines on the man's face that he could swear had not been there yesterday. It struck him to the quick, to think he had failed the man to this end. "Albus, I'm very sorry, but you really must listen to me," he began. "I swear to you that nothing sexual whatever took place in that bed. Er. Between myself and Potter, that is. And you may give me Veratiserum, and I promise I will STILL categorically deny deflowering that child. You must believe me."  
  
To his shock, the Headmaster actually rolled his eyes. "Merlin's beard, Severus, stop being such a prude. I don't care if you did or you didn't; I have far more important things to worry about this morning." As harassed as he sounded, Dumbledore couldn't hide the twinkle in his eyes when he glanced at the man. "Really, Severus; do you ever think about anything besides sex?"  
  
Severus gaped like a fish for a moment before drawing himself up and pulling himself together. "What do you require of me?" he put forth in an offended voice.  
  
Good. He'd concentrate better offended than randy or regretful. He took a deep, deep breath. "They've called Lupin up."  
  
"Bloody, buggering BLAST them," the Potions Master growled. The Headmaster sighed, but knew he could not force the other man to approve. "I don't like it, Albus. I don't like it one bit. I did tell you I had reservations—"  
  
"Please don't question my decision," Albus responded gently, and Snape swallowed his protestations. "I understand your concerns. I have concerns of my own, and 'I' trust myself."  
  
"I trust you, as well," Severus murmured immediately. "It is just...rare that I cannot anticipate what a certain action's consequences will be—no; it is rare that I must assent to taking actions whose consequences I am convinced will not be good. There is a plot afoot—you know this. My misgivings grow minute by minute."  
  
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Luckily for us all, I do not require your wholehearted blessing, but merely your cooperation." He winked at the man.  
  
Severus groaned. "And what is necessary of me?" he inquired.  
  
"As Lupin will be otherwise occupied, I shall need to divide his other duties between yourself and Kingsley. And, of course, since he cannot contact us in his current position, I would ask that you make an effort to keep an eye on him." The Headmaster took an extreme risk by patting the Potions Master on the shoulder, after having seen the downcast look on the man's face. "It does you credit that you worry about him. That you worry about either of them," he added quickly, heading the half-truth off at the pass.  
  
Severus grunted. He had intended to tell the man he was worried about Harry, not Lupin, but as always the man got there ahead of him. "I did not like him..." he admitted, echoing Harry's earlier words, "when we were at school. But, however little I like a man, I should not choose to see him sell his soul."  
  
"I know, Severus," Albus whispered comfortingly. "This is because you are a good man, albeit one who hides behind a rancorous mask. I'm afraid Remus's soul is his own to sell, and I admit that the thought sickens me, as well. All we can do is trust, Severus. In ourselves, in the greater good, and in one another."  
  
Severus sighed deeply. "You make it sound like thoughts and emotions are important," he complained. "As though they are worth the same as an action taken, when we both know they are not."  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "But they are, Severus. They are far more important, in fact, for without thought, and especially emotion, what use would action be? Action would have no worth; not even to ourselves." He smiled more widely at Severus's irritated scowl. "Take your boy, for instance. You say you took no 'action' regarding him last night, and yet you are sated in a way that I have never seen you."  
  
Severus felt his face begin to go red again, and thought resentfully of Harry. Blushing was supposed to be HIS mannerism, not the spy's. A spy certainly could not afford to glow maroon whenever the subject of his affections arose. "I really would appreciate a change of topic."  
  
The Headmaster shook his head. "With as much on your mind as the boy is, I should think the opportunity to discuss your feelings would be welcome."  
  
"The notion of being desirous of 'discussing my feelings,' on this particular is ludicrous. I should be happier not to have any to discuss."  
  
Dumbledore tisked. "I understand how long and hard you have clung to the notion that you are not worthy of love. If you cannot alter your opinion of the matter, then fine—but if this is the case, I beg you to ask who is really worthy of love. Sirius Black? You hated the man, and claimed once you would have been happy to watch him slowly devoured by ravenous, flesh- eating butterflies. But he was loved, was he not? By Harry, by Remus, by James?"  
  
"I did NOT say flesh-eating butterflies, I did NOT! I said cockroaches, damn you. You always misquote me when you're trying to make a point. It isn't funny. And I don't want to talk about love, nor have anything to do with it, is that understood?" The man had his arms crossed and his teeth clenched, and looked downright infuriated.  
  
"Insects, then," Albus granted with a wave of his hand. "The point I was trying to make is that you really ought to lower your guard a little, as far as Harry is concerned. I worry, that as he has been deprived of affection for so long, you will find it difficult to content him, unless you wholly give yourself over to the task. Loving is not so very complex, Severus. All you need do is yield to it."  
  
"I refuse to go gentle into that good night," the Potions Master replied tersely.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "It is sad that you are more afraid of love than death," he remarked. "No, no; rage against it if you must. I only ask that you keep in mind that you will break the boy's heart by doing so."  
  
Severus glared. "I do wish you would stop acting as though there is nothing wrong with my having an intimate relationship with Harry Potter. You are supposed to protect and discipline those under you. You are supposed to be the Headmaster of this school. For God's sake, why don't you act like it?"  
  
"I am, I assure you," the man responded tranquilly.  
  
"Albus. I am in grave danger already. You do not seem to realize that by encouraging this—this—whatever it is, you are raising the stakes so much higher."  
  
Albus gave him a bland smile, looking out from behind those half-moon spectacles. "You need each other, Severus. And stop trying to convince me that you're primary objection to this is because of the danger to yourself."  
  
"You're absolutely right!" Snape burst out. "I don't give a damn what happens to me! But if you think that for one moment I am going to allow my own libido to endanger that boy—"  
  
"Severus, Severus, Severus, calm DOWN," the Headmaster ordered, waving his hands placatingly. "See here; I cannot begin to explain to you why this is what is best for you, since you have absolutely no interest in whether or not it actually IS what's best for you, but I might just be able to outline why this is what is best for Harry." He settled himself more comfortably in his chair and looked pensive for a few moments.  
  
"All right," Dumbledore assented. "Just a few points to keep in mind before you go. Harry is an adolescent boy with raging hormones, a world to save and what amounts to a great, glaring bulls-eye painted on his chest.  
  
"To address your concerns: you are, indeed, somewhat older than Mister Potter. You are not a child—unlike Harry's classmates and other potential beaus. Even the shrewdest of them would not fully understand what they might be getting themselves into by dating Harry Potter.  
  
"You are a Death Eater AND a spy, and one of only two that I have sanctioned. We KNOW what side you are on. Can you say the same for Zabini? Can you say any of the other boys Harry's age might not, in their youthful ambition and naïveté, be seduced to join Voldemort's ranks? Harry is gullible, Severus. Boys his age often are. How is he to know a potential Death Eater from a potential ally?  
  
"Additionally, BEING a Death Eater and a spy certainly gives you an inside perspective as to how much danger the boy is in, at any given time. You would be in the unique position of having advance knowledge of plots against Mister Potter's person, and also of being able to persuade the often stubborn boy of the correct course of action in response. It is far easier to acquiesce with a lover's wishes than an enemy's. But even were you no longer a Death Eater, and no longer a spy, surely your service as such would have given you the opportunity to use the skills needed to keep yourself and your loved ones alive in such dark and troubled times as we are now experiencing. Can it be that you'd forgotten that is what drew Harry to you in the first place? You have said yourself that nothing could induce you to betray him. You are not at all his weakness, but his strength. It is a strength he will need desperately as the situation intensifies.  
  
"And last, but to Mister Potter's poor heart, doubtlessly not least, you are already a target of Voldemort. There is nothing Harry can do to make you more so, if Voldemort ever becomes aware of what you have already done. Harry would not survive the guilt, should some complete innocent he involved himself with become a casualty of the crossfire. He has enough guilt, Severus. You are the only one in a position to alleviate it. You are the only one who understands. DO you understand?"  
  
Severus understood that he was asking more than whether he was on familiar terms with guilt. "I don't know, Albus, I really don't," he sighed. "It is very easy for you to hand me honeyed arguments, but I have in my heart my own judgment of right and wrong. I still believe that Harry would be better off...well, perhaps not without me completely; I do like to think I perform some small amount of service, but...waiting until he is older, at least. He has so little innocence left, Albus. I cannot accept taking the rest myself." He hung his head. "I...am not capable of pushing the boy away. He is too much within my walls of resistance already. But I will not feed him sugared lies. I will not promise him happiness, only to see it torn from him. And I refuse to open his soul by bearing my own, and letting Voldemort's filth taint his, as well."  
  
Albus shook his head sadly. "Your soul is not corrupted, Severus. You have sacrificed so much, given and striven so readily. You have done everything in your power to redeem yourself, to relinquish more than you have taken. You are clean, my dear boy. Forgive yourself, so you may give Harry what he needs."  
  
Snape looked away. "What will we do on Thursday?" he asked, changing the subject.  
  
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When Snape retired to his chambers that night, he found Harry waiting there. He had a difficult time vacillating between gratification and annoyance. "I told you to LEAVE," he growled.  
  
"But I DID leave," Harry protested. "I just came back, is all, after classes were over. Anyway, I thought you might have something you wanted to tell me."  
  
"I do NOT have anything whatever to say to you. And I recall SPECIFICALLY telling you what would happen if you were not gone when I returned." He gave the boy his patented glare-of-carnage.  
  
"Actually, you didn't go into specifics. Erm. You did decide against a spanking, didn't you? Only I kind of fell of my broom at Quidditch practice, and had a harder landing than I would have liked so...please don't spank me." He tried not to look too hopeful. And prayed reverse psychology had even a slim chance on Severus Snape. "Because that would be really awful, if you spanked me now. So, please don't do that. Anything but that."  
  
Snape rolled his eyes. "In other words, 'Please don't throw me in the briar patch, Brer Fox, ANYTHING but the briar patch.' Very clever, Mister Potter. You do realize that I have more important issues on my mind than your rampant teenage hormones?"  
  
"That's why I'm here, then; to take your mind off them." Severus was surprised when Harry handed him a glass of scotch that had been ready and waiting, and gestured for him to sit down. He did, and was further taken aback when Harry went round behind him and clever young hands were applied to releasing the tension in his neck and shoulders. "You're awfully uptight, Sev," the boy commented, making him grit his teeth.  
  
"Do NOT call me that, you presumptuous wretch," he growled, though the edge was taken off by the warming scotch and dexterous fingers.  
  
"We DID sleep together, you know. Do you still want to retain that level of distance? What would you have me call you? Professor? Sir? Master?" His voice dropped lower and huskier, word by word, and he breathed the last one in the man's ear. "You are, after all, the Potions Master." Harry went around the chair again and with a slinky move, crawled into the man's lap. "Do you want the respect you've earned?" he asked, still using what Severus could only call a bedroom voice.  
  
"Stop that," he ordered. He wasn't sure whether to be appalled or entertained. "You must be spoiled beyond repair, to think you can get away with that sort of talk."  
  
Harry unbuttoned the top couple of buttons on the man's robes. "I'm not going to get away with it, huh? And just how do you propose to stop me?"  
  
Severus could think of quite a few ways of doing so, in actuality, from tossing him out on his arse to simply saying he didn't find the boy attractive enough, to any number of spells and incantations. But he felt it would be better for Harry to change his own mind, rather than having to hurt the boy or his feelings. "Perhaps I won't stop you," he told Harry in a voice so low as to reach beyond human sound and touch qualities of vibration. He was pleased to see the boy shudder. "Perhaps I'll merely punish you. Perhaps I'll tie you to my bed and whip you raw and then, when you're exhausted and bleeding, I'll take you and pound you into the mattress, and then—" he thought he was really doing well when Harry shuddered again, harder this time, and assumed the boy had to be frightened, overwhelmed, but; this was Potter, the brave little brat.  
  
"Wow," he breathed, looking up at Severus through steamed-up glasses. Then he smiled brilliantly. "Would you really tie me to your bed?"  
  
"Did you hear a word I said after that?"  
  
"I think I got stuck on the tied-to-the-bed bit, but I did perk back up when you mentioned pounding me through the mattress," Harry offered unabashedly.  
  
Severus shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are utterly HOPELESS," he remarked in a defeated voice.  
  
"And I'm not going anywhere," Harry added happily.  
  
Severus managed a smile and kissed the boy gently on the lips. Several kisses later he asked, "How was your day?" It was odd, that. It seemed so cliché, but it happened so naturally—he really was curious about Harry's activities.  
  
The boy looked sad. "Everyone knows about Draco, now. Half the Slytherins believe I had something to do with it, but Blaise and Jack told them off. I mean; REALLY told them off. I think Draco was something of a leader in the house, a trend setter and all that. People looked up to him, listened to him. They seem to be kind of lost without him." Severus felt a pang of guilt. His house. They would need him, now. Especially the innocent ones, however few there were. "And it seems like Blaise, of all people, is stepping in to fill his shoes—with Jack's support," Harry went on. "Pansy resisted pretty well for a while; think she wanted the post for herself, but the rest of them are listening to Blaise, so even she caved eventually. I think they see him as 'The Boy Who Conquered The Boy Who Lived,' and they really admire that. I don't get why he stood up for me, though. Why are all Slytherins so fucking complicated? He tells me off in front of the whole school one day, and then he stands up for me in front of the whole school the next. I just don't understand him. And what did he say to you yesterday?"  
  
"Nothing," Severus responded immediately. He had never told Harry about Blaise's earlier betrayal, and didn't think he ever would. It would only hurt Harry. And as for Blaise...it was very odd, when the boy had approached him, tears glistening in his eyes, and muttered, 'I guess the best men won.' He didn't need the boy hanging some noble sacrifice over his head. "I am entirely sick of hearing about Blaise Zabini," he announced suddenly. "And if you plan on sharing my bed, you will oblige me by not discussing ex-partners. Is that understood?" He gripped Harry's chin roughly, and stared piercingly into those green pools of light.  
  
"Er. Absolutely," Harry said. He was mesmerized, and not a little turned on. Firm Severus, jealous Severus, demanding Severus—all nearly too sexy to deal with. "I'm sorry. If I'd known you were jealous—"  
  
"I am most certainly NOT!"  
  
"Oh, yes you are. It's very cute."  
  
"It is NOT!"  
  
"Oh, shut up, Sev."  
  
Severus actually looked like he might smile for a moment, before leaning over and kissing the boy again. Harry kissed back warmly, wrapping his arms around the man. "Let's go to bed," the Potions Master said. "But once again, I must reiterate my refusal to participate in sexual activities this early in the relationship."  
  
"All right," Harry agreed unexpectedly. He got up from the man's lap, but then immediately demanded to be carried to the bedroom.  
  
"Sick, child, very sick," Severus chided, although he did as asked, lifting the boy gently, and trying to ignore his body's response to Harry wrapping his legs around the man's waist. "Not to mention you've probably tripled the chances of throwing my back out."  
  
"Madam Pomfrey can fix that," Harry responded dismissively. He leaned his head on the man's shoulder. "And it makes me feel safe. I love knowing you're strong enough to carry me. To protect me. I love you, Severus."  
  
"I do wish you'd stop SAYING that," Snape responded plaintively.  
  
"It's only natural," Harry protested.  
  
"It's only completely terrifying," Severus shot back.  
  
Harry chuckled a little. "Someday you'll say it back."  
  
"I shouldn't hold my breath, Mister Potter."  
  
"I could live without air, Severus. I could live without food or drink if I had to. The only thing I could never live without is you."  
  
Severus was silent a long time, setting the boy on the bed, changing, crawling in beside him, wrapping him in his arms. "Overly sentimental prat," he whispered. Harry just grinned and hummed in agreement, and for the second night in a row they fell asleep in one another's arms.  
  
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Again, it is one in the morning! I must sleep, and quickly! Please review, no time left, I love you dearly, yadda yadda, StarryGazer. 


	35. A Werewolf’s Secret Told

Okay, so I lied as I always do. Does it strike you that good storytellers _should _be good liars? This is the _second_ to last chapter, which I'm sure many of you, who are familiar with my inability to estimate anything, will not find a great surprise. Next chapter (hopefully last, but I am becoming disparaging of my own approximations) is nearly finished, and much longer than usual. Which is why I did this chapter. I ended up telling myself; 'It doesn't make sense. Even if it _is_ the last chapter and you want it to be special and all, I don't think the weight of the words alone should equal that of a Buick.'

And a shout out to my beloveds; Adele Sparks, ataraxis, ShadowPhoenix, Chantelli, and Sepia; thank you guys for helping to motivate me!

And of course, thanks as well to Nerfi-Tiri, Jetta Snape (Hey, I personally write better when I'm inebriated—maybe if I have a few shots I'll think of something), Ayame Kyoko, The Goddess Artemis, Pure Black (Yeah, I'm sorry, but he's really most sincerely dead), sphynxx, Kristy (Don't worry, unlike some annoying fics, this WILL actually HAVE an end, and I won't just get bored!), Desdemona321 (hugs back!), The-Magnificent-Fuzzy, milgarion (the one before the one before the end? Hee hee.), Ailey (yes, my ego is swollen with pride), severus's-bane (I blush!), Menecarkawan (thanks for reminding me about that minor point!), odessaspacey1, Mikee, Lady Darkness13, Glorfindel of Gondolin (yeah, I think I was having a hard time getting my mind off of sleep), Iaurhirwen, Tasumi Ashiru (hey, that might work on _my_ ex. I'll have to try it sometime!), Agar (I like hormonally-driven!Harry), Nilu (much thanks!), immortalbeauty1977 (they do, don't they? And yet I'm not conceited at all! ; )), and the frabjous 'The Bell and the Black Dragon.'

And one more thanks—to my beta, Echo the Insane, who has not yet approved this chapter. We're starting at the beginning, and when this is finished I will really _get it in gear_, and you'll have a whole new, polished version. Meanwhile, I have already learned a lot! Have you noticed; she has taught me the magic of making italics! Yay! (Y'all have no idea how I am transported with rapturous joy. You'd gag, really.)

So, on with the fic! Starry

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Chapter 38: A Werewolf's Secret Told

            Harry awoke to the feeling of long fingers gently sliding up and down his back. It was lovely—so lovely—to wake here, next to Severus, feeling safe and warm and wanted. And to be touched. He had hardly ever been touched with anything resembling affection before—certainly the Dursleys never bothered—and he'd never had anyone else in his life who might have done so until he was eleven. Even then, it wasn't like there were hugs and rampant snuggling after he found out he was a wizard. Ron would have been grossed out, and though Hermione had given him the occasional peck on the cheek, she was Ron's girlfriend, and always careful to walk the line. Remus tried hard, but he had his own barriers against touching—it was probably a werewolf thing, knowing that the people around him would likely be uncomfortable—so he didn't do it often. Sirius was the only one Harry remembered actively wanting to be that close to him—slapping him on the shoulder, slinging an arm around him—but he had come and gone from Harry's life so quickly that he hardly had time to make a dent in Harry's need to be loved.

            The fingers on his back were doing figure eights, and Harry adored it. It dawned on the youth that Severus had doubtlessly grown up in similar circumstances, and was as affection-starved as he himself was. His heart ached a little at that, and he suddenly flipped over onto his other side, catching the man's lips in a searing kiss. Trapping Severus's face with his hands, he kissed the man several times on the nose. "I wuv you," Harry told him in his squeakiest voice, and Severus rolled his eyes.

            "I like you better when you're asleep," he grumbled in reply. "You're far less noisy and annoying. Harry laughed. "Harry…" Severus said, and the boy felt his heart clench up. Gravity time again, then. "You do know that we can't continue to do this, don't you? I do lo…I…enj…am not wholly exasperated with your presence," he continued, "but we are risking a very great deal when we do this—and the world simply isn't ours to risk. Do you understand what I am trying to say to you?"

            Harry had never seen the man's face so gentle before, and his heart felt as though it would shatter from tenderness and loss and desire. He nodded. "I'm much better at closing my memories off," he said, "but you're right. When you're in love, it's awfully hard to hide how you feel. It's just too powerful, and it's always _there_. And I don't want to risk you. I don't want to be the reason Voldemort discovers what you're doing."

            Severus, abruptly pale, jerked out of Harry's arms and began dressing hurriedly.

            "What—? Sev…are you all right? What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?" Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. The Potions Master wasn't angry, was he? Why?

            Severus carefully kept his face turned from the boy. This had gone too far. And in one thing, at least, Dumbledore was correct—if this kept up, he would only break the boy's heart. "Nothing is wrong. I'm not at all upset," he lied through gritted teeth. "I merely have things to do for the Order for the next few days, and I must begin preparing. I may not be back for several nights." He turned to the teen. "I'll expect you to behave, for once in your irresponsible life, while I'm away." He stared at Harry, and Harry could see the anxiety the man was trying to mask in those glittering black eyes.

            "Yes," he whispered. "I'll be careful. I will." Severus looked slightly relieved and bent to give the boy one last, fleeting kiss before leaving.

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            Harry saw Severus in Potions, but the man did not look him in the eye, and seemed extremely ill at ease. Harry wasn't certain what was wrong, or why Severus wouldn't discuss it with him, but since Draco had died so recently, everyone else was chalking the man's behaviour up to grief. Harry, himself, couldn't fathom Snape's conduct.

            Harry felt grief as well, and was weighted down by substantial feelings of guilt. Severus could say anything he liked about Voldemort's intentions, but it had still been Harry's thoughtless actions that led to the other boy's death. A lot of the time, he merely felt numb, with an odd undercurrent of stomach twisting unhappiness that he couldn't seem to shake.

            He'd see Draco's empty seat and flinch. He'd pass a bewildered looking Crabbe or Goyle in the hall, and have the urge to say something, to confess his involvement and relieve the burden on his soul. What kept him from doing so was mostly the knowledge that neither one of them could begin to appreciate what he meant, and hearing it would not alleviate their sorrow. He began seeing them flanking Blaise as he patrolled the halls, speaking quietly to whatever Slytherins crossed his path. It made Harry feel slightly better to see them with him—they seemed a little less lost when they were with Blaise, and moved with more purpose. He hoped Blaise wouldn't screw them over the way he did everyone else.

            He told Ron and Hermione what had happened, suffering through their scolding afterward. He had to nod through a half hour of 'Harry, that was really dangerous, do you even grasp how dangerous it was, you're lucky _you_ didn't end up in his place, you _must_ be more careful in the future,' dictated by Hermione, and then a half hour of 'Oh, my God, you have to be joking, _please_ tell me you're joking, are you _trying_ to give me a stroke, Jesus, Harry, you have the _worst taste_ in guys!' from Ron.

            Of course, eventually they calmed down, especially since it was obvious that he already felt horrible, and there was nothing to be done now in any case. Hermione sat with her arm around his shoulder for a long time, telling him it wasn't his _fault_; it just wasn't a very bright thing to do.  Ron nodded agreement and offered him a couple of chocolate frogs, and proceeded to try to distract him with lengthy games of chess whenever he began to look mopey. Harry was glad when they finally backed off about the situation; he had more than enough on his mind without their haranguing.

            Neither one of them brought up the subject of Harry's sleeping arrangements. Hermione smiled a little too knowingly whenever Harry mentioned Snape. Ron just told Harry flat out, "I don't know if you're doing anything with him, but if you are, please don't ever, ever tell me about it, because I'll have to saw my own ears off afterward." No one else asked Harry about it, either; Ron had told the other boys in the dorm that Harry was suffering nightmares again, and had to be isolated for everyone's well being. Not that it mattered; he'd come to a taciturn agreement with the Potions Master that as long as Voldemort was still around and Snape was spying on him, there would be no further late night trysts in the man's chambers. It hurt to be away from the man, but he knew it would hurt even more, if he lost him forever because of a careless memory.

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            Tuesday evening, he knew something was wrong. He couldn't quite explain it, but there was a current of tension in the air that had been streaming through the castle all day. Teachers had been short-tempered and snappish, and Snape had been conspicuously absent. Until supper, that is, when he flitted through the Great Hall and went straight to Dumbledore and hissed something in the man's ear. The headmaster immediately stood and followed Severus out, and Harry pushed his plate away, feeling a stone forming in his stomach.

            He mumbled an excuse to his friends and got up from the table, following the path the men had taken a few moments ago. When he reached the stone gargoyle, he knocked on the door a few times before Severus opened it, looking agitated. His hair was mussed, his eyes were wild, and he did not look the least bit pleased to see Harry. "Come in," he finally grudgingly admitted the boy. "Albus wishes to speak to you."

            Harry squared his shoulders before entering the room. He knew Sev would say it was arrogance, but he had known from the start that this involved him, somehow. Bad things almost always did. He was like a lightning rod for misfortune. Dumbledore regarded him grimly for a long moment after he walked in before saying, "Harry, I'm afraid I have ill news. It may come as something of a shock."

            Harry sighed wearily. "I can't imagine anything would, but go ahead. You'd think I'd be used to this sort of thing by now, but it never gets any easier. Is someone dead? Is that it? Is someone _about_ to die? God, don't make me guess," he finally pleaded. Severus put a strong hand on his shoulder, and he felt obscurely calmed by it.

            "No, Harry," Dumbledore was saying, shaking his silvery head. "No one is dead; not yet. I am afraid, though, that Remus Lupin is in very serious trouble, and I…I cannot promise you his safe return," he told the boy sadly.

            Harry was shocked, his eyes springing wide and his heart thudding uncomfortably hard in his chest. Remus? But he was the last one—Harry's only link to his parents, to Sirius, to the people who loved him! He couldn't lose Remus. Dazed, he hardly noticed when the headmaster conjured a chair for him to sink down onto. He felt himself trembling, and lowered his face into his hands. "What happened? Where is he? Is there anything I can do?" he asked in a muffled voice.

            Having his head down, he missed the sharp look Snape directed at the headmaster, only hearing the old wizard's fatigued sigh. "He took the Dark Mark," Dumbledore told him, and Harry's head shot up in disbelief. "He volunteered to be a…second contact within the Death Eaters. It has been known for some time that Voldemort was aggressively recruiting dark creatures, and Remus believed he would have a good chance at successfully infiltrating their ranks. We thought he would be valuable to them, as a known member of the Order. He had hoped they would be influenced by the fact that he was in a position to work so closely amongst their enemies."

            "That's disgusting," Harry replied in a quiet voice, and Severus trembled a little at the words. "You shouldn't have made him do that."

            "He was not forced," Albus sighed. "Nor was it even suggested to him. This was something he decided on his own," he added gently.

            "THEN YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE LET HIM DO IT!" Harry shouted. "How could you let him do something like that? He's the only person I have left that's like _family_, and you let him volunteer to be a loathsome, murdering Death Eater, just to get some crummy information? What the hell is wrong with you? You let him go out and c—curse and k—kill people and do God knows what else those twisted fucks do?" Harry's voice was rising in pitch, and he was stuttering in anxiety at times, so upset that he did not notice Severus had retreated to the corner, where he was shivering violently. "What happened to him?" Harry demanded, his voice tight.

            "We aren't entirely certain," Dumbledore responded. "Severus has not been able to find him since he took the Mark. We believe he is in danger, but our enquiries have been fruitless. It is likely they were not fooled by his declarations of loyalty to Voldemort, and only planned on deceiving him until he had no further opportunity to turn back. We will continue doing our best to find him, but…I felt you deserved to be informed."

            "I DESEVERED to be INFORMED before you fucking let him DO it!" Harry roared. "How the hell could you do this to me? To him?"

            Albus's eyes wandered over to the Potions Master. "I was advised against it," he admitted.

            Harry turned to stare at Snape. "You knew about this?" he whispered. "You KNEW about this, and you never bloody TOLD me? You just let him MARCH OFF to his fucking DEATH and you didn't say a THING? I _trusted _you, you bastard!"

            Severus was very pale. "…Harry, I was unable to con—"

            "You can SHUT THE HELL UP! You didn't tell me then, and you think I'm gonna listen to it _now_?" He stood shakily and looked at Albus. "You can tell me if you think there's something I can do, or if you've got him back. Beyond that, I don't want to hear _anything_ from _either_ of you," he said quietly through clenched teeth, and strode out the door, slamming the door shut behind him.

            "Albus…" Severus said weakly.

            "What?" Albus said, unconcerned. "He'll get over it. I blame hormones." He gave the man a cunning look over the top of his glasses. "You'd better see if you can find anything else out." Snape just looked at him. "Trust me, would you?"

            Looking as though it were against his better judgment, the Potions Master nodded slowly, before heading back out to take the much-despised roll of spy up again. He would find Lupin. He had to.

            Dumbledore sighed and sat back in his chair. A voice came from behind him. "Dumbledore?" Phineas Nigellus said. "I've just been in the North Tower, having a cup of tea…I heard the most _interesting_ prediction. Would you like to hear?"

            Dumbledore looked up at the previous headmaster, who wore a vengeful little smile. "Oh? Do tell," he replied.

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            Harry spent much of the next day feeling heartsick, although he attended classes to, as Hermione proposed, 'take his mind off things,' and 'maybe learn something while awaiting developments.' He even read, or tried to read, during breaks. He even forced himself to take notes. _Think of something else, Harry. Think of something else… 'Charms that affect the arrangement of linear events, such as the Sistere Spell, and Infectum Reddere, often have time restrictions which result from the inherent inertia of the…'_

He felt horrible for having yelled at Severus. This wasn't the man's fault. Doubtlessly he had not encouraged Lupin to do such a stupid thing. Why had Lupin thought they needed another spy?

_Because soon Severus isn't going to be able to be successful at it anymore,_ a little voice in the back of his head replied. _Severus has had two years to bring Voldemort your head on a stick, and hasn't managed it. They're getting suspicious. He isn't going to last much longer—especially if they start picking out the little 'sweet feelings' he has for a certain Potter._ Harry forced his eyes to focus on the text in front of him, fighting off the chill that had invaded his bones… _'These time limits vary from object to object and spell to spell, but a safe estimate is generally one hour, as this is the standard…'_ He could NOT keep his mind on this, even if it WAS about the spell in the cuff link Severus had given him for Christmas. Severus. _He's fine,_ he told himself sternly. _No reason to imagine otherwise. He's fine, he's fine, he's fine._

            By the time everyone gathered for supper in the Great Hall again, no one had seen the Potions Master since the day before. He tried to convince himself that everything was all right; Severus had merely gone out to spy again—it was hardly surprising, under the circumstances. Still, a foreboding weight had settled in his chest, and his mind was a whirling storm of fears and questions. If he could only leave well enough alone—if only he'd stayed away from Severus in the very beginning, if only he'd spoken with Remus first—had a chance to discuss things, if only he'd apologized to both of them—for his behaviour, for making them feel they had to take such risks to keep him from doing the same, if only, if only.

            Everyone was under some kind of strain; Seamus and Jack had been fighting, and looked to be breaking up, Crookshanks had been sick, making Hermione tetchy and nervous, the Slytherins were still in mourning over Draco, and of course the faculty that were also part of the Order of the Phoenix were all worried about Remus. The combined pressures made the entire school feel like a powder keg in the midst of a lighting storm. Harry kept waiting for the inevitable flash of light that would bring the noise and explosion and pain to them all. 

            That night he suffered terrible nightmares. Occlumency was no help fighting them—they weren't something sent by Voldemort, just products of his own guilt-ridden mind. He started out in the cemetery where Cedric had died. Voldemort stood before him, and opened his mouth, Harry knew, to say, 'Kill the spare,' but then it wasn't Voldemort, but Dumbledore, who said, 'It was his choice.' And there was a flash of light, and Harry leaped to save Cedric, but it wasn't Cedric at all, but Draco Malfoy who lie dead at Harry's feet. And then Draco—dead Draco, with lifeless eyes and chilled skin—looked up at Harry and said, 'You're not doing a very good job at protecting us, Savior.'

            Harry woke up in a panicked sweat, but the moment he closed his eyes again he fell into another ghastly dream. It was dark here, so dark, with just an edge of blue light outlining every object, and Harry was lost in a maze of corridors with sinister looking doors. He tried the handle of one, then another, then another, but they were all locked. He heard dry, rasping laughter, and looked over his shoulder to see Bellatrix Lestrange pointing her wand at him, but before she could say anything, everything shifted, and they were in the Department of Mysteries, and Harry was surrounded by veiled doorways. There was a scream, and he turned to see Hermione falling through a veil, but before he could even move toward her, a motion to his right made him look round, and he saw Neville do the same; until every where he looked, someone he cared about was tumbling through a veil of death, and he was helpless to stop it. Meanwhile, Bellatrix Lestrange stood in the center of the room, laughing and laughing and laughing. And then she turned into Sirius, who stared at Harry with haunted eyes, and held out cupped hands, full of shining alphabet letters. "You mustn't waste them," his godfather told him earnestly. "Quickly, quickly, quickly, Harry! You haven't much time, and these are so important!" He opened his hands, letting the sharp letters fall through his fingers, pouring onto the floor. They were tearing his palms and finger pads as they fell, leaving streams of dripping blood. Harry was horrified, but Sirius just shook his head sadly, saying, "It's the ones that you don't use that hurt the most." His godfather reached out to him, and Harry never felt so conflicted before; he wanted so badly to touch and be touched, but it was Sirius's pain he'd be touched by, Sirius's blood and agony, and he didn't know if he could take it.

            He sat up in bed, gasping, and saw that everyone else in the room was still asleep. _Right, then._ He'd just get up and sit in the window for a while. That would keep him awake, and he'd just have to think about other things until morning came. He purposely sat down by the light of the nearly full moon without a blanket of any kind—the cold would only help serve his purpose tonight.

            It made no difference. With a strip of white light across his face, he soon slipped again into an uneasy sleep. He found himself walking down a dusty road, and there was too-bright sunlight in his eyes. He was wearing filthy robes, and his feet were bare; he could feel every pebble and rut in the road. He felt someone tugging at his sleeve and looked down. There was a man crawling by his side, saying, "Please forgive me, please save me, please heal me, please." Harry didn't know what to do; he hadn't really studied any healing magic, and couldn't see anything wrong with the man. Before he could say anything at all, there was another supplicating voice, and then another, and he was surrounded by people, all begging him for something. He was frightened and overwhelmed, and saw a tall black silhouette from the corner of his eye. He turned, relieved, to see Severus, and made his way toward the man, seeking his comforting presence. But when he came before the Potions Master, the man fell to his knees with the rest of the group. Harry was horror-struck when the man reached out in pleading, saying, "Save me, please save me; save us all."  He realized what they must have thought he was, and he fell back, appalled. Lupin dragged himself to the front of the crowd, bleeding and naked, and lifted up an arm—and arm with a skull and snake—and beseeched Harry to help him. Harry could only hold his hand, unable to think of a single useful spell. Then Remus changed into Severus again, who was chanting his name. Harry stared down into his eyes, eyes that were open like he'd never quite seen them before, eyes that were inundated with pain, betrayal, longing, envy and shame. One of the man's long, elegant hands reached up to touch Harry's face, and the boy heard him whisper, "Harry, please…Harry…please forgive me…" He leaned down to press his lips to Severus's, but found himself being shaken awake by Ron. It was time to go to breakfast.

            He dressed, feeling both traumatized and somehow vaguely comforted. It had been a horrendous night overall, but Snape was there at the end…and Snape had asked for something that Harry could give.

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            So, at last we approach climax…wheee! (Hey, you filthy-minded little brats! Get your collective minds out of the gutter! I mean the kind you get in a story! If you want an actual climax, go read my other fic. On second thought, if you want an actual climax, go get yourself a vi—CENSORED. Hey, man, what's up with that? I'm censoring myself now? I knew I was weird, but that's just plain mental. Ah, well; give me encouragement, lest I leave you hanging forever! Mwahahahaha! Starry


	36. Undone and Done

Credits to J.K. Rowling, who is a wonderful person for letting us do this (unlike that frustrating Robin Hobbs) and, in this chapter to Dylan Thomas. And how often do you get to use both at once?

Thanks to Awen, Mercury Sands (actually, I _did _take a psychology class in college, which was very much fun…also, I was into studying dreams and symbolism and stuff), Desdemona321 (hugs back—what an affection-fest), Chantelli, The Goddess Artemis (how do you post aff.net?…haven't really played around there, much), Agar (wow, I'm so glad you got the irony, and I was worried it wasn't depressing or angsty enough…'cause I wanted them to have stuff left undone, and all, and worried I'd wrapped too much up!), Menecarkawan (I don't think he did, but I wanted Sev's reaction to be fairly subtle, since he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve. Also, this was about the first time I've given Snape reason to doubt Harry's love for him, which is OBSTACLE—and you know how I love those! ; )), Kudama, severus's-bane, (I love Remus, too, y'all), Unknown56, tinkita, Dreamdancer (I'm glad you liked the dreams! A lot of people seemed a little confused, but I figure; dreams are generally confusing), Pure Black, odessaspacey1 (it had to end someday…preferably now, with an actual ending, than later, more abruptly because of my death.), KittyWillow (I like Dumbledore, too…he's kind of all-knowing, so he can really screw with other people), ataraxis (yeah, I had to throw some angst Sev's way), and the ungovernable Glorfindel of Gondolin!

And thanks to my beta, Echo…who will hopefully remind me when we get to the Sev in the hospital wing part (with the Shakespeare) to also credit Thomas again, because I forgot the first time around. Hey, I'm sorry already! I'll make much sacrifices to the Gods of Literature! Burnt offerings and that…I have left over toast.

Now, this is the end. The very end. I'm sorry there is no more, but I will consider a sequel in the future. I hope it lives your expectations, and that you enjoy it thoroughly. I am so grateful to all of you for your support and encouragement. As you are probably aware, this was my first fanfic. It is probably not the best I am capable of, and kind of patchy and rambling, but I hope I have improved over the course of the story. I sure have learned a lot; I can tell you that for nothing! I have had an unbelievable amount of fun with my versions of snarky!Severus and clumsy!Harry, and I hope you liked reading about them, too.

I have two other Snarrys in the works, and a couple of other little fics tumbling around in my head, waiting to be cast like dice. Just need to finish this up. I have pics for my Blackbirds and Red Riding Hoods, and I hope I contributed something worthwhile to the world of HP fanfic. I will continue to write prolifically, and I sure hope you'll stick around and read my future works! Thank you all so much! I love you! (Sob!) We'll meet again someday!

Starry

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Chapter 39: Undone and Done

That evening, the Potions Master stumbled into Hogwarts with Remus in his arms. The werewolf was unconscious, and bleeding from cuts on the head and on one of his legs. Harry rushed to the infirmary when he was informed, and made it in time to hear Madame Pomfrey tell the headmaster that Lupin should be fine—he'd likely taken a Stunning Spell to the head, and would sleep for several hours, at least. Apart from that and his leg, which she had mended easily, he seemed sound.

Harry surreptitiously gave Severus's hand a squeeze, and the man shot him a quick, tense half smile before turning back to Dumbledore, who promptly put a silencing charm around Remus's bedside. "I'm not sure what happened. I never even saw where they were keeping him. All I know is that I was returning to Malfoy Manor from a raid, and heard a commotion around the back," he explained. "I found Rookwood immobilized and head-first down a hole, and _him_," he gestured to Lupin, "barely coherent and lying on the ground, his leg nearly ripped to shreds. I think one of the stepping stones attacked him." Harry looked down at the werewolf, who was looking more peaceful than anyone who had gone through such an ordeal had a right to do.

"Did anyone see you?" Albus asked anxiously, and Harry felt angry. Wasn't it enough that Severus had risked so much already? When would it be enough? How could they continue to ask him to go back to that?

"No one," Severus replied dismissively. "They did not expect me back for another hour, and the grounds were otherwise empty. He must have escaped."

"And lucky thing, too," Harry remarked with relief. "Tonight's the full moon."

"Yes, although considering the swelling on his head, I greatly doubt he will awaken even through his transformation," Dumbledore added. "Well, I cannot express how it gladdens my heart to have him return alive." He gave Severus a long, calculating look. "Will you return, then?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Not with _him_," Severus said. Well, of course he wouldn't return with Lupin; that was just silly. Harry wondered why he even bothered to say it. Albus was biting his lip a little, and Severus assured him, "All will be well. As you are often so keen to point out, 'We are all of us exactly where we ought to be.'" His voice was slightly tinged by bitterness, but the headmaster did not seem to notice.

"Very well, then, my dear boy," he told the man heartily. "I am sure that if you hold on to that, it will all turn out right. In the meanwhile, I think I ought to be going and assisting Elphias with the modifications—having the two of you involved with other things has left the Order rather short handed, even if the Weasley boys have given us most their most welcome assistance."

"Ah, yes, and any number of exploding armchairs and objects that turn into sock puppets, as well," Severus responded dryly.

"The laughter they induced was the very thing I meant," Dumbledore told him sternly. "You will contact me at headquarters if you need me? I should be there in…oh, an hour, or perhaps a little more."

"I think I shall be fine. Harry, why don't you keep an eye on Lupin?" Snape put forth. "Poppy is going to inject his potion directly into his bloodstream, and I'd like you to take notes on what, exactly, happens during the transformation. I have never had the opportunity to try the experiment myself—Lupin hates needles, and dislikes being a guinea pig for new developments—but these are the things we ought to be watching closely, if ever we wish to produce a cure for lycanthropy."

"You? You want to make a cure for lycanthropy?" Harry asked him, flabbergasted. "But you _hate_ Lupin."

"I dislike him, which is not the same thing. Besides, had you ever been alone in a dark tunnel and come face to face with such a slavering monster, you, too, would have a compelling impetus never to want it to happen again," Severus responded.

"_Some_ people would just avoid werewolves and dark tunnels in the future," Harry suggested.

"Yes, well, _some_ people have no creative impulses and lack the drive to improve the world around them," Severus said loftily.

"I'm taking down the Silencing Spell now," Albus informed them. He bid them farewell, and left to speak with Elphias, his eyes glittering madly. It made both of the other wizards uncomfortable.

Harry and Severus stared at each other for a long while unspeaking. Severus uncertainly reached out to touch Harry's face, and the boy leaned into his hand, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry," they said together, and Harry's eyes popped open again. He laughed a little.

"Wait a minute, I get to go first. I'm sorry for blaming you for something you couldn't have prevented. I'm sorry for becoming so angry about the situation that I took it out on you." He looked around quickly, making certain Madame Pomfrey had still not returned, before adding, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I love you before you left, and that I made you feel like fixing this was your responsibility. I had horrible dreams all last night, and I think that was a big part of it." He thought back to Sirius, and the pain from the letters—the ones which should have formed words that were never said. He shook himself slightly. "And, by the way, I thought we agreed you weren't going to say that ever again. Right?"

"Yes, I recall now. Very well, I rescind my apology." He smiled a little. "I still should not have let such a thing happen—I let them both underestimate what they were dealing with, and it is my duty, as the only truly informed party, to make them understand. I failed to do that. I should also have kept you aware of the situation. I was…unwilling to upset you with the knowledge, and I did not feel you would have been able to change their minds. I should not have made the decision myself, though. And you needn't profess your undying devotion at every opportunity, you repugnant clown—I am more than well aware of your feelings. How could I not be, since you spout them almost as often as you breathe, like some sort of sappy, syrupy, awful, _awful_ romantic drama?"

Harry just laughed in return. "Yeah, I know I don't have to say it. I just like to occasionally, okay? I know perfectly well that love doesn't need to be expressed for it to be real."

Severus's face softened and became more somber at the same time. "Harry, I want you to promise me that tonight you will not leave the castle."

"Why?" Harry demanded, instantly suspicious and frightened.

"Promise me, regardless of what you hear, you shall keep yourself safe, Harry. Please. It is all you can do for me. Remember, I have many crafty tricks up my sleeve, and am capable of taking care of myself. So, will you please promise me you will stay here?"

Harry looked worried, but swallowed and nodded. "Can I come to you when it's all over?" he whispered.

Severus hesitated. "I do not believe that would be a very good idea…"

"Damn it, Severus—" Harry stopped, attempting to regain control. "All right; we'll do what you think is best. But God Almighty, Severus—you are going to _have_ to learn to let down those walls. I can't tell if I'm in or not, but it doesn't feel like it when you push me away, and I'm telling you; it's cold out here, Sev—lonely and cold."

Severus's shoulders hunched a little and he refused to meet Harry's eyes. "…always have to bellyache over something…never met anyone so needy…" Harry heard him muttering, and rolled his eyes.

"Just be careful, all right? We'll talk about it when you get back."

"The anticipation is overwhelming," Severus responded sourly. "Watch the hairy oddball; I'll return when I can."

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It wasn't until almost three quarters of an hour later that Harry realized something was not right. In truth, there was no way he could have known before, because the moon had not risen before then. He was sitting next to Lupin, quill and scratch pad in hand, and watching the moon's rays crawl across the sheets when he realized that something was out of place. He'd been nervous to see Remus change—even in his sleep—but Poppy was nearby, and McGonagall as well, and both had assured him that having the potion injected shouldn't make any difference in his behaviour. Still, he was just slightly scared.

He was still edgy when the moonlight was falling across the man's arm, and that's when it hit him: _Lupin wasn't changing._ Was it because he was unconscious? Was it due to one of the spells he was with? Was it all the result of having the Wolfsbane potion inserted directly into his bloodstream, whatever the witches said?

Then, Lupin's nose began to lengthen, and his muscles changed shape, and Harry began to relax. Maybe the potion just slowed the moonlight's effects, then. But wait; there wasn't enough hair, and the nose was…and the jaw…in fact, the whole _face_ wasn't really… "Poppy?" he heard himself call in a shrill voice, and the nurse hurried over. "I don't think the potion's working right…"

She rolled the man onto his side so they could see him better, and they both gasped at what they saw. "Polyjuice," she whispered.

"Shit," Harry replied.

The man in the bed was not Remus Lupin.

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This wasn't Remus Lupin; it was a complete stranger. And that meant Voldemort still had Lupin. And Severus had gone and picked this guy up and brought him back here, so they must have meant Severus to find him. Which meant they knew what the Potions Master really was—and they'd set a trap.

"Oh, _shit_! McGonagall, get over here!" he heard himself shriek like a girl. _Okay, Potter, get it together. Maybe they didn't trick Snape at all. He did keep dropping hints that he expected something to happen…_ But Harry didn't honestly think he expected _this._

McGonagall took a deep breath after seeing the man, and announced in her fruity voice, "I shall contact the headmaster." She immediately walked briskly away, and Harry was reminded forcefully of an older Hermione—calm, cool, and logical in the face of fire. And so utterly, utterly wrong to take charge of situations like this.

Snape was out with the Death Eaters, the Death Eaters knew he was a spy, Dumbledore was on the other side of the country, and Lupin was still in captivity, on a night with a full moon. _"Shit, shit, shit_!" He'd _promised_ Snape he'd be a good boy. He swore he'd stay at the school, no matter what. He couldn't let anything happen to Snape—but if he rushed out without thinking, trying to play the hero again, the man would probably _die_. His heart lurched. Not Snape. Not so soon after Sirius. Not again.

He tore through the castle, barreling toward Gryffindor Tower. Once there, he shook Ron roughly awake. "Get up get up get up," he grunted at him. "Get dressed and meet me in the common room—I'll go wake Hermione." It was probably a daydream of most of the males at Hogwarts to sneak into the girls' bedroom in the middle of the night, but Harry wasn't into that, and it wasn't the right time, anyhow. He practically dragged Hermione out of bed and back to meet Ron.

"…and so it _isn't_ Lupin at _all_ and I don't know what to do!" he finished desperately, and Ron looked tired and confused, while Hermione seemed to be weighing their options.

"He might have expected this," she allowed after a few moments. "It's clear he expected _something._ But I don't think this was _exactly_ it, or he wouldn't have put so much effort into Lupin. Harry…I think this will have to be your call. This is very likely a trap; with as much time as you've been spending with Snape lately, it can't have been that hard to figure out that you two didn't hate each other. So. I really, really hate to say this, but I think Voldemort wants to kill you tonight."

"When doesn't he?" retorted Ron.

"My _point is_," Hermione continued, ruffled, "that you know you're taking that chance if you go after him. Only you can say if that chance is worth taking. I just…I don't want anything to happen to you. I don't want to do something stupid, but I don't want my best friend to live with the guilt if they killed Snape, and I was the reason you didn't go to him. And we are better at all this than we were last time—we've had Snape to teach us Defense. But like I said," she added shyly, "it's up to you."

Harry was frozen. He'd hoped Hermione would just tell him what to do—he didn't want this responsibility, not anymore. Snape told him not to. Snape didn't want Harry wasted on him. Snape wanted Harry to stay here. The man would probably never forgive Harry if Harry died trying to save him. Maybe he would hate the boy, even. But perhaps at least Snape would still be alive to feel hate. That was enough for Harry.

"I'm going," he announced softly. "If the two of you would tell—"

"Tell, schmell," Ron snapped, "we're going with you."

"Ron, if something happened to you—"

"We know the risks," Ron muttered. "Just like Sirius did. And Harry, I reckon I can tell you just what else he felt that night. He knew he could die, all right, but he knew you needed him. And it was worth it, Harry. Because he thought you were worth it."

Harry swallowed thickly, blinking back tears. He had to clear his throat a few times before managing a rusty, "Thanks, mate. Good friends…best friends…friends as good as you guys are, are rare and valuable. I don't…just…thanks."

Ron rolled his eyes, and Hermione was leaning on the redhead, grinning a little. "Sometimes if there's a conflict between logic and love…it's worth going with love," she said softly. "You guys taught me that."

They stood awkwardly for a moment, before Harry took charge of the situation. "So…ready to go do our death-defying stuff?"

"Eh, same old, same old, for us," Ron replied.

"Right," Hermione nodded. "We have a cranky old Potions Master to save. And a werewolf."

"Yeah, don't forget him," Ron responded. "Remember, werewolves are people, too!"

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They crept carefully through Hogwarts, going slowly enough to be quiet, but as quickly as they dared. Hermione had suggested the first thing they do was see what they could find out from McGonagall, since it hardly made sense for them to go risking their lives if the whole situation had already been resolved.

They had invoked their Blurring Charms, and stopped outside the infirmary when they heard the woman's voice. She sounded tired. "I don't believe there is anything to be done," she was saying quietly to someone. "Albus will do what he can, but we are not hopeful. It is obvious that they put a great deal of thought into this scheme. Severus is not easily taken in. Well, it really was only a matter of time before they suspected something."

There was a muffled reply, and Harry truly wished for his cloak, so that all three of them could have shared it, and he could see Ron and Hermione's faces right now. They were really no longer small enough to fit under it together, anyway. Still, he felt strangely alone, being unable to look at his friends. Then McGonagall's voice broke in again, distracting him. "…was told he must bring Harry tonight. Well, of course it was unthinkable. They both would have been killed. He assured us that he would merely be…punished, but I cannot believe this will not be the last time Voldemort allows the man to fail him. The thing I worry about is the fact that they're so _close_. It's extremely upsetting to know that the Dark Lord has managed to set up shop in our own Forest—that close to Hogwarts! If not for Severus, we might never have known."

Harry was having difficulty breathing, and reached out blindly, trying to connect with Ron and Hermione. Tugging quietly, he tried to let them know they needed to move. When the were well enough away from the room, Hermione softly pointed out, "Dumbledore is doing what he can. Surely he—"

"He went," Harry whispered. "They told him to bring me to them, and he went without me—even though he knew what they would do. And he thinks he can handle it, but he doesn't know about Lupin. They're going to let Lupin kill him. Lupin won't be able to help himself, and then, when he realizes what he's done—"

"They probably won't bother with that," Ron commented in a flat voice. "They'll either just wait until he's served his purpose, and then give him a silver bullet for payment, or they'll keep him around to feed other people to on the full moon. I'm with Harry. We can't just walk away from this," he added.

Hermione sighed. "We're well trained in the art of stealth, I suppose," she said. She let out a shaky breath. "We can see if we can get close enough to find out what's going on, and leave if they don't need us. And if they do need us…we'll do what we can. All right?"

Harry hesitated. "Are you guys sure you want to come? After what happened to you last time…"

"Harry, don't think of that now. And don't feel guilty. We aren't even doing this for you, exactly. We're doing this for Lupin, and for Snape. We're doing this because we're Gryffindors, and that's what Gryffindors do. Right?"

Ron and Harry nodded, and they reactivated their Charms, ghosting out into the night.

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They passed Hagrid's hut, dark and empty while he and Fang were out doing something for the order. They entered the Forbidden Forest, which seemed much quieter and darker than it normally was. They started with slow sweeps of the perimeter, working their way in deeper. They went past the grounds Snape had used to train them, and Harry felt his resolve harden as he remembered the exercises the man had put them through. He had prepared them for times like this. And he was Snape—demanding and relentless. Harry knew he had prepared them well.

Deep in the heart of the Forest, past every place they had been before—beyond where they'd encountered centaurs, spiders, and Grawp, they finally had some indication they were on the right track. There were yells up ahead, and they moved toward the sound with greater certainty. Then, a dim, maroon light penetrated the branches ahead. Harry stopped when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Wards," Hermione whispered. They paused. "Specillum Sparsonis," she hissed, and a sprinkling of dusty gold light fell from the tip of her wand, spreading a short ways across the forest floor. A web of glowing beams stood out—the Death Eaters' wards to insure no one stumbled across their part of the woods. It was much more complex than any of the wards Snape had shown them.

"Mutare," Harry murmured, and the beams began shifting and changing, rearranging themselves into a new pattern—one that would bend around them.

"Good one, Harry," Ron muttered.

They slipped closer and closer to the yells. It was very difficult to tell what was going on. Someone was shouting at someone else to keep back, or maybe to keep someone else back. Another person was screaming unintelligible orders—Bellatrix, it sounded like. The sound of a werewolf snarling and snapping filled the background, and above the other noises Voldemort's high, cold voice was directing them all.

"You fool, _you fool_, get him; he is merely a man on a broom!" An explosion rang throughout the woods, and then a flash of purple. "Force the traitor closer! I refuse to wait until he is _rescued_!"

The trio cautiously peered around a tree. There was a small clearing before them—not much of a gathering place, just a little, strange fire and a fenced-in enclosure. Harry looked closer. It seemed at first to be a regular chain-link fence, the kind you could buy in any Muggle hardware store. It seemed very odd—especially because at one end there was a monstrous werewolf, tossing its head and biting at the ropes being shot at it from someone's wand. They weren't catching the werewolf, but they did, at least, keep him distracted from the man at the other end of the enclosure.

Snape had his back pressed into the links. His chin was high, but his posture was defensive. It was no surprise that he had no wand. One of the Death Eaters aimed a spell at his back, and he stumbled forward. The wolf lunged at him, and a spell from outside the fence hit its nose, driving it back.

"Get the one on the broom!" Bellatrix shrieked, following her own advice with a blast toward the sky. They could see a shadow darting around above the fence, dodging spells and keeping Lupin at bay.

"Ah, Harry, I think I shall require your assistance," a quiet voice said nearby, and the three students jumped in surprise.

"D—Dumbledore?" Harry whispered. "How can you see us with our Blurring Charms on?" He couldn't even see himself—just a vague outline of his hand if he waved it in front of his face fast enough. It had taken some getting used to.

"We really haven't time for that now. You do understand the situation, do you not? Voldemort has learned the truth of Severus. He and Remus shall both die unless something is done quickly. Kingsley is preventing Lupin from killing the man, but he cannot continue to do so without eventually being hit."

"Then why don't _you_ do something, sir?" Hermione's voice inquired.

"I intend to. However, Voldemort is taking steps to prevent me, personally, entering the clearing, or performing any magic to affect its occupants. The spell he is using takes a great deal of concentration, but is very effective." He lowered his chin, and Harry saw his eyes gleam in the darkness.

"So if Voldemort were distracted…" he said quietly.

"Then I would be free to extract Lupin from the cage. It must be done quickly, before he is injured severely." Harry thought he was only talking about Kingsley, but then he saw that wherever Severus was touching the fence, it shone with a strange light. "The fence is enchanted silver. There is Aconite sprinkled across the ground. Before long, he will go mad with pain, and attack Severus regardless of any spells that strike him." Harry and the others were revolted. There was no surface Remus could touch that would not cause him agony.

Harry took a deep breath. "What do I have to do?"

The headmaster looked grave. "I cannot send your image into the clearing, as I did during the Hogsmead incident. You would actually have to enter the clearing. I believe your friends, Shacklebolt and I could distract the other Death Eaters, and draw them away. However, there would still be a great danger to you. You would be a decoy in the worst, most literal sense. I have no right to ask it of you, but I do not believe Voldemort's attention could be held by anything else. You are his obsession. This is…a difficult decision. I do not wish to lose Remus and Severus, but neither do I wish to lose you. I…will make the attempt to keep all three of you from harm, but there is risk involved. Will you do it, Harry?"

"No, Harry," Hermione hissed. "They wouldn't want you to!"

Harry thought for a long moment. "But _I_ would want me to, if I looked back and knew I hadn't done anything to help. And Severus—God, Hermione. I don't want to live without him." He watched at the man was sweeping his hand across the ground, trying to clear a place for the werewolf to stand without incurring pain, even as the creature was being held back by Shacklebolt's maneuvers. "I—of course I'll do it."

Dumbledore nodded once. "Hermione, Ron, I want you to move to the east side of the clearing. I believe if you used that excellent spell for relaying and amplifying energy, you might send your voices to the north in a misleading direction. Call for Harry; tell him that Snape is not worth it, and that he must come back. Try to sound as though you are attempting to be quiet, but are desperate for him to hear you. Do you understand? I will go behind the fence, and step out the moment Voldemort's spell is dropped," he told Harry. "He cannot both keep his mind on you and continue to weave such a complicated charm. I wish you to escape at the first opportunity—leave the clearing and Apparate to the edge of Hogwarts Grounds. I believe I shall be able to distract him long enough for that."

Everyone moved off to take their places, and Harry waited nervously. The night seemed quieter, even though the Death Eaters were still yelling, and sending hexes at Kingsley. Suddenly, one of the Death Eaters shouted for everyone to be quiet. "I heard something," he insisted. "It sounded like a little girl, looking for someone."

Harry saw Voldemort smile. "That is Potter's trademark, is it not? Leading his little friends into mortal peril? Making sure those he loves are killed?" Harry stiffened at the words. "Potter? I do know that you are out there somewhere. I've plundered your lover's mind—I know all about your little—_romance_," he spat. "Would you like to come out now, or wait until Severus is werewolf fodder?" The man pointed his wand at Snape, but did not say any spell.

"Hermione! Watch out!" Ron's voice floated to them, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. Harry shuddered—God, how he hoped that was merely good acting. The Death Eaters seemed restless now, unable to stand still. It was clear the sound of someone in pain agitated them. Lucius Malfoy, his long blond hair glinting in the moonlight, strode back and forth, legs working smoothly. His eyes shifted rapidly, his body tense. Obviously, his punishment had not had any lasting physical affects—the man was like a great cat, muscles supple and strong, and he exuded the aura of repressed carnal power. He contrasted strangely with his master, who was so thin and frail looking, but whose very presence scintillated with madness and dark magic.

"Find Potter," Voldemort finally ordered. "Bring him to me. Bellatrix, stay and deal with the werewolf and his little friends." The other Death Eaters faded into the night, and Harry stepped out from behind the tree.

"I heard you wanted to see me?" he asked, not letting his Blurring Charm go.

"Harry," he heard Snape groan, his voice languishing with dismay.

Voldemort's eyes darted wildly. "Bellatrix," he snarled. The woman sent a flash of green light in Harry's general direction, but it went wide past his left shoulder. He sent his voice to the other side of the clearing.

"You're going to have to do better than that," he told her flatly. She sent a curse in that direction but, of course, it encountered nothing.

"If you fail me, woman, you shall know torment the likes of which has never been _seen_," Voldemort hissed at her. His wand was still raised, and Harry saw that a trickle of something was coming out of it; it looked like a light mist, which must have been protecting the clearing from interference. It was plain that Voldemort was not going to be distracted so easily.

Closing his eyes for a long moment, Harry gathered his strength. Finally, he opened them and revoked the Blurring Charm. He made sure to keep Voldemort between himself and the female Death Eater. Voldemort hissed, the sound a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. Harry raised his wand. "Are you going to kill me, boy? Do you really think yourself capable? He's here," he snarled at the woman. "Kill him!"

Bellatrix darted around her master, but Harry got as close to the man as he could, and stepped to the side, still keeping the Dark Lord's body between himself and Sirius's killer. "Master! I cannot reach him!" She came closer, trying to lean around the man.

"_Vulnuseris Aspere_!" Harry shouted, and Voldemort bellowed with pain and rage. "Don't come any closer," Harry warned the woman. "I could kill him like this, since he refuses to use his wand. Do you like pain, Tom?" Harry taunted, using the man's Christian name. "You sure seem to enjoy inflicting it on others. Don't you like having a taste of your own medicine? Vulnuseris Aspere," he repeated, and watched as the man tried to jerk away, his clothing torn and bloody from the invisible lashes. "I'm not enjoying this," he added quietly. "But I'm not above it, either." He cast the painful spell once more, and this time held it until the man howled and aimed his wand at Harry.

"_Crucio_!" he snarled, dropping the protective spell. "_Do you enjoy **this**, Potter?_"

Harry was unaware of Dumbledore levitating Lupin out of the cage while Kingsley struggled, using a spell to attempt to calm the wolf down, because the only thing Harry was conscious of was pain. He didn't know how long he writhed on the ground, screaming, before the spell was removed again. "Harry—oh, God!" he heard Snape cry, and looked up to see Bellatrix hit the Potions Master with a similar curse.

"Albus!" Shacklebolt cried, and Harry saw Lupin run the tall man down before staggering into the trees, off into the same direction that Ron and Hermione were hidden.

Dumbledore helped the man back to his feet and quickly mended his wounds. "Go after him," Harry heard him order, before turning back to Voldemort and the scene at hand. "Scindere," he called out, waving his wand, and the silver fence ripped apart on one side.

Before Snape could exit the cage, though, Voldemort snapped, "Emend Calfaco," and the links meshed together once more, turning red hot and melting a seam along the break. "You meddler. I should have killed you years ago." He shot a hex at the headmaster, who calmly blocked it. Harry reached for his wand to help, but Bellatrix kicked it out of the way, laughing. "Stop playing games," the Dark Lord thundered. "Get rid of the old fool—I'm going to make Potter _suffer_ before he dies."

Bellatrix immediately cast the killing curse at Dumbledore, who stepped out of its way. "Oh, I need to be in closer range, do I?" she smiled gleefully. She stepped forward, casting the curse again. The old man managed to elude it once more, but it was closer. The Death Eater laughed.

Dumbledore hurled a Sleeping Spell at her, but she blocked it handily, taking another several steps forward, and screaming, "Avada Kedavra!" another time. "There is no way to block the killing curse," she reminded the headmaster, and Albus knew it as well; he had no choice but to keep moving. Harry saw with despair that he was being driven back into the forest.

Voldemort's high-pitched laughter rang out, and he sang out, "Crucio!" and Harry's world was reduced to agony, until the fire in his nerve endings made him want to beg for this to stop, but he was beyond the ability even to form words. His scar was full of icy pain, and he felt blood trickling down his forehead. Finally the pain subsided, and he shuddered beneath the lunatic laughter and awful red eyes.

"Stop, damn you!" he could hear Snape demanding in the background. "He's just a boy, you unbalanced bedlamite! _You would not DARE do this if I had my wand_! You are a _fucking_ _coward_! A filthy, worthless coward! You'd never face me like a man! You've always been afraid—frightened of Dumbledore, unmanned at the thought of death—"

Voldemort's lips twisted, but then he laughed. "See how your knight in shining armor attempts to rescue you? How very transparent of you, Severus." Then his chilling smile broadened. "I intend to punish both of you—how if I did both at once? Killed two birds with one stone…" Harry weakly tried to get up, but the man caught him by his robes and dragged him over to the fence.

He could see Severus reaching out for him, trying to touch him. "Harry, hold on. Be strong. The others will be here any moment." But Harry doubted this—the pain had made it seem like they'd already been there for hours, and no one had come. Plus, he could hear screams and explosions in the forest, as the Death Eaters fought Harry's allies.

Voldemort seemed unconcerned with all of this. "Do you love him, boy? Hmm? Answer me!" He kicked Harry in the ribs, and the boy twisted in pain.

"Yes," Harry gasped, grimacing. "I do love him. Do you realize what that means? He is loved. You can't even say the same. No one could ever love you—you're _vile_."

"Really?" Voldemort sneered in response. "And would you love him still, if you truly knew him? Because I don't believe you would. You have no idea—and believe me, Severus has done as many…_vile things_ as I myself have. Would you like to know what they were? Let me show you."

"No, please," Severus croaked, but the man ignored him.

"Legilimens Transitonis!" Suddenly, Harry's mind was flooded with memories that were not his own. Snape's childhood, Snape's adolescence, all of Snape's actions and reactions were there in his head. Harry was quickly becoming confused—he was no longer certain he could tell where his own recollections ended and the Potions Master's began, and ever more were crashing down into his consciousness.

Here was a young Severus, hiding under a table, grimacing with fear and hatred as a man's legs stalked past, the end of a belt trailing threateningly from one hand. And here was an older Severus, fighting with Harry's father, getting the worse end of a Cringing Curse, and looking enraged and humiliated. And then there were visions of an even older Snape, standing beside Lucius Malfoy as he tortured a Muggle, and casting a killing curse while a younger Voldemort looked on. Then Harry saw him begging at the hem of the Dark Lord's cloak, then sobbing on the arm of a younger Dumbledore, then going inscrutably through the motions as a spy, allowing the mayhem and misery to take place, reporting to two masters, and watching, horrified, as the Lestranges sent the Longbottoms into a descent of madness. Here Severus stood watching Harry, himself, the young child of a long dead, long hated enemy…there were too many images, cluttering and confusing. Severus as a Death Eater was terrifying; the things he'd done, horrendous. It was clear Harry was expected to be revolted. Unexpectedly, Harry found himself aching with empathy, that the man had had such an exhausting, tribulation-filled life.

He heard Severus moaning in the background. "Please, stop…" The memories untwined from Harry's own, and the boy felt his head start to clear.

Voldemort laughed again. "Too degrading for you, Severus? Ah, but I should think you'd welcome the opportunity to see whether the boy truly loved you." He continued to chuckle a little, and Harry saw, beyond the man's legs, a silvery something in the woods, but it merely flashed and was gone. No one else noticed it, and nothing happened, so it may as well never have existed, for all the good it did—whatever it was. "You must have known he could never love you…who could ever love a disgusting creature like you? Slimy, ugly, gawky thing that you are…"

"Shut up," Harry rasped in ire.

"Be _quiet_, Harry," he heard Severus murmur. "That's quite rich, coming from a man who gives new meaning to the words 'bloodshot eyes,'" he added sarcastically, in an overly loud voice.

Harry knew that it was supposed to distract the tyrant, but Voldemort trained his wand on Harry and maliciously said, "Crucio," once more.

_ Pain, pain, God—the pain…_ He couldn't stand it, couldn't keep this up much longer. It was like he was being ripped apart, flayed alive, boiled or incinerated. His scar was an excruciating brand, and it was all too much…he wasn't sure he was remembering to breathe.

It all receded again, and he dimly heard Severus's exclamations of horror and Voldemort's hateful, calculated insults, but couldn't quite concentrate on the words. He wasn't certain he wanted to. All he wanted was to go to a place where there wasn't any more pain like that. "Crucio!" _God! Please! Merciful God…Breathe, Harry, remember to breathe…_

Severus wanted to cry in frustration as Harry thrashed on the ground, eyes clouded by suffering. He did not appear to be seeing any longer, and the only movements he made were the jerking contortions induced by the curse. "You're going to kill him," he whispered hoarsely, and the Dark Lord gave a small smile of triumph.

He took the curse off again for a moment, watching the boy gasp, stubbornly holding on to his life and sanity. "That is my intention," he responded. "Crucio!" The boy was racked with searing fire once more, his teeth clenched against the desperate throes of torment. Voldemort cast the curse again and again, taking great pleasure at the whimpers of pain and twisting contortions. He took the spell off and examined the youth.

"Are you ready to die, Harry Potter?"

"N—no," Harry croaked, and the torture began again. Harry heard a prolonged scream, and realized it had issued from his own lips. "God, please, stop," he choked out, sobbing, when next Voldemort removed the curse.

"I think not," the man replied, and cast it again. In the midst of his affliction, Harry saw a silvery shape barrel out of the darkness and collide with the Dark Lord, who was knocked to the ground.

"Look at me. I want to see your eyes when I do this. Avada Kedavra," Lucius Malfoy grunted at the man.

Voldemort rolled, the green light sending a up spray of dirt where his chest had been. "You _fucking _Judas," he spat, leaping up. "You think they will _honor _you when this is done, you turn-coat? You think you will be rewarded?"

Lucius laughed, shaking his head and making it seem as though he had a great, silvery lion's mane. "You think I am doing this for _them_? I. Am. A. _MALFOY._ You took my _heir_ from me. Do you still expect me to be grateful? To _fear_ you?" He laughed again, and the sound was empty and hollow, echoing through the woods. "I have entirely too little left to lose. Avada Kedavra!" He repeated, his face twisted to bare his perfect teeth.

Voldemort eluded the spell once more, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. Furtively, the boy tried to regain his feet.

Severus watched in trepidation as Harry struggled. They boy managed to make it to his knees me before falling again, his body convulsing. He had never seen anyone save the Longbottoms endure so much of the _Cruciatus Curse._ How could Harry possibly survive with his sanity intact? Snape ignored the other men, who were directing curses swiftly and heatedly toward one another. All that mattered was Harry. The youth wrenched himself up again, managing to stand on two feet, although he was unsteady and trembling violently. "Severus," he whispered hoarsely.

Harry could barely stay upright. The effort of balancing, while the blood rushed in his ears and the earth called to him in her sweet, siren's voice, telling him to come to her and be still, was almost too much for him to bear. He fingered the gift Severus had given him. An hour really wasn't very long, but he could take no chances in this case—he couldn't cast several hours back, only to learn it could not handle the strain. Whatever else happened, he had to do what he could to save the Snape. His life, Hogwarts, the entire wizarding world—they were all just a colorless backdrop. Nothing mattered so much as the Potions Master. There was only one moment within the last hour that could be changed that Harry could think of that could do the man any good. And Lucius had Voldemort distracted. Harry would have to do what he could. Weakly, he managed to invoke the spell in the cuff link.

Severus watched as the fence split itself, leaving a clear opening from his confines. He looked back to Harry, and recognized what the youth had done. God, no. It shouldn't have been—not for him. He did not deserve this thing. There would be a better time—soon. He _should not_ have done this. He saw the boy give him a smile sapped of all energy. The boy tried to take a step toward him, and Severus saw Voldemort turn and issue a green light at the back of Harry's head. "HARRY!" he screamed, knowing that it was already too late—that there was simply no way the boy could react quickly enough.

Harry, whose foot could not be lifted high enough to walk correctly, was in the process of trying to navigate a branch in front of him when Voldemort cast the curse. He was surprised to find himself on his knees next to his wand.

Snape blinked. _He tripped. Oh, my God. He tripped. The killing curse went over his head because he tripped. _ He fought a wild urge to laugh, instead calling, "Harry, watch out!" Voldemort was still trying to aim curses at the boy, even while fighting Lucius. He sent a particularly damaging hex at his former follower, and it drove the man to his knees, blood leaking from behind clenched teeth.

"One more time, shall we?" Voldemort murmured, turning to Harry. "You won't make it through another round, and I should _dearly _like to see you broken. Crucio!"

Harry gasped, "Bibere Verbosa," at the same moment, and Voldemort looked stunned when his spell had no affect on the boy. With a roar, Lucius Malfoy launched himself at the man from behind, and the grappled vigorously with one another. Suddenly, a shout sounded from outside the clearing. It sounded as though the cavalry had arrived, and the Death Eaters were retreating.

Severus had navigated through the fence, found his own wand near the fire, and aimed a hex at Voldemort's back, causing the man to jerk in pain. Voldemort, realizing he was now surrounded by enemies, made a quick choice. His face distorted by rage, he screamed, "I'm not fucking done with you, Potter!" and Apparated. With a hiss and a hateful glance at Severus, Lucius Malfoy did the same, leaving Harry alone with the Potions Master.

Harry looked up at the man, feeling the weakness suffocating him. He knew that soon his entire body would shut down; his heart already felt sluggish and ineffectual. God, Snape had not wanted him wasted like this. He would never forgive him. Before the man could speak, Harry shuddered pronouncedly, still suffering after-effects from the Cruciatus Curse. "…m sorry," he choked, when he had some control of his muscles.

"What?" Snape gasped. He'd been busy readying the boy for the next seizure, which he knew would come soon. Alice Longbottom had only convulsed once or twice, but had seizures for much longer, afterward. He thought he was going to be sick.

"…failed you…" Harry managed weakly. "…failed everyone…so sorry…tried so hard…couldn't be…what…needed me…to…be…" A tear leaked out, sliding down towards his ear.

Severus was appalled. "Harry, that isn't true at all, you—" The boy began having another fit, and Snape slid his hand behind his head so Harry wouldn't knock himself out.

"Prof—_Oh my GOD!_" Hermione dropped to her knees beside the man, her face scratched and bloody. "What happened—no—what can I do to help?"

"Find something to stick between his teeth," Snape hissed, "before he bites his own tongue off. Where's the Headmaster?"

"With Tonks," she promptly replied. "Almost disemboweled by Avery. This stick is filthy—shit—we need something—"

"Here—give me that—next to your foot." When Harry shuddered into a more relaxed state again, Snape pried his jaw open and shoved something in his mouth, careful to make certain the boy hadn't swallowed his tongue. "He can bite down as hard as he likes on that."

Harry was beginning to shake again, arching backwards, his heels gouging the forest floor. Harry's teeth dug into the man's wand. "Has he any chance?" Hermione whispered.

Snape didn't want to say no, so he said nothing. Even if his body did not fail, his psyche surely would. The Longbottoms had not suffered as long, he was certain. How could anyone go through what Harry just had, and still keep their mind? As an afterthought, he slipped off the ring Harry had given him, and forced the boy's fist open so he could place it on one of Harry's fingers. It would help with the aftershocks, at least. "I can't imagine anyone _wanting_ to stay in reality, when they've been subjected to that," he sadly commented. He shook his head. "It starts out as a spell to harm the physical body, but what it breaks is person's sanity. The mind simply retreats from the world." They were silent a moment, as Harry's violent spasms diminished into quavers and twitches. "Get Dumbledore—no; he isn't skilled enough at healing. Find Pomfrey—wherever she is."

Hermione stood. "You can't Apparate?" she questioned.

"Not while he's like this," Snape responded shortly, and the witch hesitated.

"Severus…if there was anyone that could make Harry want to stay…or want to come back to reality…it would be you," she told him quietly, and vanished.

Harry shivered a little, blinking. His mouth was slack, and Severus's saliva-coated wand was spilled to the ground. The man moved to put it back, but he heard the boy's harsh, dry-throated voice say, "Sev…"

"H—Harry?" The teen's eyes were covered with a film of agony, but Severus thought he still saw a spark of lucidity there. "Harry…I'm here." Gently, he cupped the boy's jaw and peered into his eyes. "Stay with me, Harry. Please. I…I love you." Something in those green eyes flashed, and Severus continued with greater confidence. "I don't think I could begin to express how much I love you. It's been building all year, since that moment you came to me, that moment your laughter broke the enmity between us…" Harry's limbs quaked again, and the light seemed to fade from his eyes. Severus desperately went on. "I don't care if the world ends, so long as I have you in my arms. You are worth it. You were worth everything—every moment, every sacrifice, and every injury. God, Harry; don't blame yourself for tonight. I made many poor decisions in my past; this is merely a culmination of those. You saw the things I did, the person I was. You looked right into me and saw the bitter, horrible, disgusting person I am, and all of the despicable, atrocious, unforgivable acts I committed. God, Harry; I'm so sorry. I could never ask you to love me still, after having seen that. All I can ask is that you stay. Please, God. Please. Harry." He pressed his forehead to the boy's own. "I love you so very much."

Soft lashes brushed against his lids, and he pulled back a little, to see Harry valiantly holding on, raging against the dying of the light. Those lips smiled a little. "…love…" he whispered. "…forgive…"

Severus stared. "You…forgive me?"

Harry swallowed several times, and Snape cast a wetting spell on his sleeve, and let the boy suck the moisture from it. He seemed to have a stronger grasp on reality, and continued. "Yes…forgive you, and…God…all you've been and done…so hard for you… I couldn't have rejected you because of that. You are so strong…so incredible. I love you all the more, for knowing everything you were…everything that happened…for you to become…Severus Snape."

"You love me still?" the man whispered, eyes gleaming.

"I love you forever," Harry corrected, managing another small smile.

Severus took a gulping breath, finding he had not been breathing. His eyes shone with tears as he fought for something to say—something worthy of Harry, but for once, his inexhaustible vocabulary failed him. He shook his head, cradling the boy in his arms.

"I am undone."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry could not leave the hospital wing for almost a month. It was deadly dull, especially as, though he spent a great deal of time with Snape, he was never completely alone with the man. Madam Pomfrey was always there, muttering about the strength of Harry's heart—which Severus pointed out had been tested and not found wanting—and getting the boy too excited, and how Harry needed to be careful not to overexert himself.

Snape was protective when it came to the boy now, which caused Harry no little amusement. He growled whenever Ron got too close, and fought with Lupin (whose own recovery was much shorter than Harry's, and who of course, didn't even remember what happened) over minor things such as Harry's diet and schoolwork, and whether Harry was getting enough sleep. Lupin was pleased that the man was taking an interest, but he had no idea why the man's demeanor had changed toward the boy.

Harry didn't mind. Between his injuries and the fact he was recovering his energy very slowly, he didn't feel ready for the sort of fight that outing his relationship with Snape was likely to bring. Sometimes he thought he'd never feel normal again.

By spring, however, he was finally allowed to walk the grounds, and had rejoined his friends in their classes. Few of them knew what had happened that night; apparently a rumor had overrun the school that Harry, mad with grief over being dumped by Blaise, had tried to kill himself. Blaise, of course, knew better. He'd spoken with Harry, and apologized for everything that had happened between them. Harry found he could look on the boy as a friend, but the hormonal attraction was gone. Blaise seemed too busy for love, in any case; he was quite occupied by his quest to mold Slytherin house into one worthy of the same acclaim Gryffindor received.

Harry toddled up the stairs one day to find a group of his friends waiting for him, and looked at them in confusion. "What's going on?" Ron just rolled his eyes and looked helpless; evidentially conveying that although they were doing something he didn't agree with, he couldn't really stop them.

"You'll see," Seamus told him with a wicked smile, and they proceeded to blindfold him and lead him down the stairs and outside. He was glad Seamus was happier—he and Jack had not spoken it more than a week, and it really looked like this time it was over for good. As far as Harry could tell, Jack had been spending time with Pansy Parkinson, and looked to be settling down. It wasn't right, but it was very Slytherin.

Chattering people surrounded him, and it seemed like they walked a very long ways before they went through a door and into an exuberantly noisy building.

Seamus whipped the blindfold off. "Ta-dahh!"

Harry was in the Three Broomsticks. There was a banner over the bar. "You see, we felt really bad that Blaise treated you like that," Seamus told him, making Harry have to fight the desire to smack his hand over his forehead. "We wanted to remind you there are lots of other gays in the sea…er…whatever—so we decided to throw you a 'We're happy you're single again!' party." The banner overhead proclaimed exactly that.

Harry laughed a little. "Ah. Um. I see…thanks, guys." They dragged him to a table and began filling him with butterbeer. Harry was actually happy to be there—he had missed having normal days, time with his friends, laughter and conversation. It was honestly wonderful—all that it lacked was Severus. He must have given a slightly disconsolate sigh at this thought, because Seamus immediately gave his arm a bracing squeeze.

"And now it's almost time for your gift!" Harry's eyebrows shot up. Seamus pointed to Dean, who had taken out a magical pocket watch, and was following the time closely. "Well, you see, we noticed that you had kind of a crush on Snape."

"_What_?" Harry squawked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You only turn three shades of red whenever he looks at you, Harry."

"_And_ every time he calls on you, or even says your name, you go and grin like a doofus," Seamus added. "So, we decided that if you can't have one Slytherin, we'd just have to get you another."

Harry was starting to feel panicky. What had they done to Severus? He'd finally come to an agreement with the man about being discreet—at least, for the rest of the year. He was going to _kill _Harry.

Now Dean was holding up the pocket watch, and counting down with evident delight. "Ten…nine…eight…"

"Mind you, it's a gift to me, too, really. And the rest of the house. It is rude to think you're the only one who can play a decent prank, you know. Three…two…one!" Seamus gestured to a group of Slytherins at a nearby table, whose robes were changing colors.

It looked as though they'd stepped in a puddle of something, and it was soaking their hems and bleeding upwards. As they noticed, everyone began pointing and laughing, and the Slytherins were looking down at their outfits with growing dismay. Soon, every single one of them was decadently arrayed in red and gold. Bold print began forming across their chests.

PROPERTY OF GRYFFINDOR 

Harry almost choked on his butterbeer. Jack came tearing in, fury written across his face. "D'you think this is _funny_?" he demanded of Seamus. The words seemed very proud on his robes, contrasting brightly with his embarrassed visage. His face was very red, and Harry wondered if he'd ever been on the receiving end of a prank before.

"Actually, I rather do," Seamus told him coolly. He took hold of the front of Jack's robes and pulled him close. "Plus, there is a certain element of property marking involved."

Jack slowly surrendered up a wry grin, though his face was no less flushed. "Stupid Gryffindor," he grumbled. "I can't believe you put one over on me. And I _told_ you; there's nothing going on between me and Pansy! Idiot! In case you hadn't noticed, I'm _gay._ I'm one of only two actually gay Slytherins, and I'm _yours_. All right?" Seamus gave a funny smile and buried his face in Jack's shoulder.

The front door flew inward, and Severus stood framed there, wearing Gryffindor colors and a very incensed look on his face. "And it was just _wrong_ to put Severus Snape in Gryffindor red!" Harry heard Jack complain. "He doesn't have the right _complexion_ for it!"

Snape stomped into the room, making the students around him fall silent as he passed. His hands were clenched, and he came to a halt in front of Harry. "I can only assume this was your idea?" he hissed. He was absolutely blazing with magical energy. "I expect this is your way of expressing that you are dissatisfied with our arrangement?" he growled, his eyes flashing. His chest read,

PROPERTY OF HARRY POTTER 

Harry gaped; trying to form the words that this was Seamus's fault, and he'd had nothing to do with it.

"Very well, then," the man spat. He grabbed hold of Harry's arm, yanking him out of his seat, and Harry found himself crushed against the man, lips caught in a sizzling, simmering kiss. If he hadn't been somewhat weak before, he found himself that way now, and flung his arms around the man's neck, holding on for dear life. That heated, talented tongue was rolling around his own, and all his attention was taken by Severus feeding his hungry mouth. He barely heard the gasps and catcalls around him.

Severus finally pulled back, and Harry collapsed into the crook of his arm, gulping for air. "I thought you said you didn't want anyone to know yet…and that Lupin would be upset," he panted. "What are you going to do if he confronts us?"

"Hex him, perhaps," the Potions Master responded. "Refuse to make his potion until he agrees to behave…Harry…" He leaned down to the boy's ear, breathing, "I've decided I don't care what they think. Besides, I'm not the one making graphic, hyper-dramatic statements about how proprietary I'm feeling."

"That wasn't me!" Harry protested. "That was Seamus! He thinks he's funny!"

Severus looked surprised and stepped back, finally taking in the whole scene. "Oh. Well then. I advise you to change that sign," he told Seamus in a dangerous voice.

"Sure thing. Doesn't seem quite as appropriate as I thought it would," Seamus said, waving his wand. _WE'RE HAPPY YOU'RE SINGLE AGAIN _instantly became _WE'RE HAPPY YOU'RE SCREWING PROFESSOR SNAPE_, and Harry buried his face in his hands. "And did you want me to change what it says on the back of your robes, too?" Seamus cheerfully asked the Potions Master, whose face had lost all expression.

"What does it say on the back of my robes?" He asked, developing a slight tic under one eye.

"'Screw you, Blaise: more for the rest of us,'" the student promptly revealed.

"_Seamus_! That's! That's really bad!" Hermione choked at him. Ron was singing again, a pained look on his face. "How did you even _do_ that—to all the Slytherins?"

"Did a deal with the house elves. You're leaving them alone next year, by the way."

Hermione began berating him severely, and Harry looked up. "Can we please leave?" he asked in a small voice.

The man glanced down at him, considering. "Don't tell me; you want to be carried," he said flatly.

Harry pouted. "My legs aren't completely up and running yet. The muscles get tired."

"Ah. Mustn't let _that_ happen…so early," the man responded, raising his brow. Harry grinned incredulously, and the man sighed. "In for a penny, in for a pound," he ceded, lifting the boy carefully.

"In for anything at all, and I'm happy," Harry replied.

"Yes, I thought you'd say that," the dry voice intoned.

"I love you," he muttered in the man's ear.

"I love you, too, you thoroughly troublesome brat," Severus smiled, and carried Harry home.

FIN

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So, was it okay? I worried that the denouement was too long…it's always supposed to be short and punchy, but I hate them worse when they're too short… Well, anyway, the stuff I worry about is generally not the stuff that gets criticized the most…I'm thinking you're all disappointed in the lack of a sex scene, but I just couldn't see it working with what I had! I didn't want it in before the climax, because having them achieve that level of intimacy would shoot the shit out of my OBSTACLE, which was kind of all about whether they could even achieve intimacy—on a more emotional level. How the hell did a two page outline become an almost 40 chapter _book_, anyhow? I'm gonna scan my outline tomorrow and put it on my website, so y'all can check out how sketchy this whole thing really was in my head. Except for a few detailed points, I don't know how I got this from that…anyway… I hope you will all let me know what you think of it! I do hope it was pretty good, for a first effort! (I just sound pathetic now, don't I?) At any rate, remember that I have other Snarrys in the works, and probably also a Remus/Harry, and a Ron/Harry drabble that I might post in the next few days, just because it's so short it'll take the least work. Thank you all for everything, I hope I've given you all something worth keeping!

StarryGazer


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